


Past Our Satellites

by sieghart



Series: Our Place Among the Infinities [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Childhood Memories, Coming of Age, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 86,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3779209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieghart/pseuds/sieghart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired and loosely based on the tale Thousandfurs (from Allerleirauh: All-Kinds-of-Fur) and Cinderella by the Brothers Grimm</p><p>Rough summary of the tale for those who are unfamiliar with it: "A king promised his dying wife that he would not marry unless it was to a woman who was as beautiful as she was, and when he looked for a new wife, he realized that the only woman that could match her beauty was his own daughter." (from Wiki)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beware: 9,220 words of exposition and Chapter 1's barely finished (it's why I decided to split Chapter 1 into two so it doesn't go very tedious and you'll get it once I post the other half of Chapter 1 hopefully in a few days time) Happy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired and loosely based on the tale Thousandfurs (from Allerleirauh: All-Kinds-of-Fur) and Cinderella by the Brothers Grimm
> 
> Rough summary of the tale for those who are unfamiliar with it: "A king promised his dying wife that he would not marry unless it was to a woman who was as beautiful as she was, and when he looked for a new wife, he realized that the only woman that could match her beauty was his own daughter." (from Wiki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware: 9,220 words of exposition and Chapter 1's barely finished (it's why I decided to split Chapter 1 into two so it doesn't go very tedious and you'll get it once I post the other half of Chapter 1 hopefully in a few days time) Happy reading!

"I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

Oh, all my friends are turning green

you’re the magician's assistant in their dreams."

 

 

           _Time future (Side A)_

 

_A castle-within-a-castle_ , Jon had thought, describing the massive fortress housing their monarch, echoing Mother’s words to him when he’d begged for her to describe Father’s home. Mother had only gone to King’s Landing a handful of times, when the Queen or Father had requested her presence in court. Otherwise she’d keep to running Dragonstone, what became of Mother’s home since marrying into House Targaryen and becoming Father’s second wife.

Jon was presented to court when he was but a babe and he had not set his foot to the capital ever since. It was by the King’s orders, and the King’s orders were law. Mother’s marriage to Father had spurned several great houses of the Seven Kingdoms, _broken ties and dishonor_ , he’d heard the kitchen helps discussed it one rainy evening, and he had learned through lessons that some had gone as far as calling to arms and raising banners against their own King until Mother placated House Baratheon and House Stark and Father managed to win back House Martell’s support.

Maester Cressen would say little of the events that happened next but Jon had understood all the same that he and Mother were sent to Dragonstone as the King’s punishment to Father. Jon loved his home, the island where he grew up, where Mother’s warmth is, where he learned to speak and read and write and do sums, where Ser Arthur taught him how to hold a wooden sword and properly ride a horse, where Father taught him how to play the harp and arrange music, where Father’s ancestors carved their legacy and where dragons have been set in the stones of their castle.

Until Egg and Rhaenys with their escort, their uncle Prince Oberyn, came to their island to visit a kin, _him—their little brother_ , and pay respects to Father’s second wife when Egg casually remarked over dinner that their home was damp and dreary _and how could you possibly live here?_ and Jon had seen the look of hurt flicker on Mother’s beautiful face and Jon wanted to snap at his brother for saying nonsense just as he felt Rhaenys kicked Egg’s shins under the table and Prince Oberyn placed a comforting hand on Mother’s and remarked that he too was sent to a place after a blunder with a lord from Yronwood. _Lys the Lovely it was called, but it was hardly that when storms ravage the rock and seas_ , and then Mother broke into laughter—the one Jon loves but he’d heard only a number of times—which stunned Egg and Rhaenys because it sounded so carefree and made Mother so younger than her true years, _how can you call that a blunder?_ she challenged the Martell Prince, eyes twinkling with amusement and Prince Oberyn grinned at her and began to regale them the story of the “Red Viper” not before Mother interjected _please do keep it fit for children’s ears_ , and the prince nodded while grinning even more broadly, any slight made was forgotten.

But not to Jon, for it was that time he had realized that Dragonstone was no true home for Mother. He knew that Mother craved moments same as with Prince Oberyn, where she could meet others, exchange stories with and travel distant lands. Every time she came home from visiting Father in King’s Landing, there was always a wistful air about her. Mother did all her best to hide it but Jon _knew_ when she had the same air every time she spoke of the North and Winterfell, her beloved childhood home.

These musings made Jon’s blood run cold. It made him think that his _own_ home could dampen Mother’s spirits and wither her strength.

Ten years past, he was finally invited to the court again. Mother was close to tears when she broke the news to him and Jon instantly thought that he’d rather stay for the invitation did not extend to Mother, but she shushed him and said with a wry smile that _the Red Keep could only hold so much Stark, Jon_ , and proceeded to tell him about court life. Mother was genuinely excited for his travels at least and Jon wanted to be the one telling her stories for a change. Begrudgingly he’d agreed and Mother pinched both his cheeks as her customary way of teasing him, saying _it’s not like you have a choice my little wolf, in life we’d do best to make most of what has been offered to us._

Father went home and stayed for two moons, the longest to date Jon had noted, when he came to fetch him for King’s Landing. Father did his duty to the realm as the Crown Prince, his duty to Mother lasting only for a week, a fortnight if there were no disputes to settle in some faraway lands, and a moon if there was a cause to celebrate. Mother didn’t seem to be bothered by Father’s absence most of the time. She’d only fuss about it when she suspected that Father’s neglecting him and not _her_ , and Jon wondered how their particular relationship put the realm’s peace at stake for even though he’s young and didn’t know much about love, he had regarded their relationship as a comfortable companionship and nothing more. He’d had the crofter and his wife’s relationship for a comparison—where there were much arguments, pardons, kisses, laughter, and then some _more_ arguments—then again, Jon supposed love for nobles were different from the sort the smallfolk experience as much as the land was to the sea. When he said as much to Ser Arthur, the knight shook his head with a laugh saying, _I’m even less fit to hold an opinion for it, my lord prince, seeing as I swore to a different sort of vow! But I do know this, as my sister Ashara has told me: if you can be at peace and content with someone after all’s been said and done, then there’s no truer love than that._

Jon eyed his Father’s back, broad and strong and steady; he was always sure of his steps. If not for the slight hunch of his shoulders, he’d never know that life has also made Father bone-tired and all the more mournful—for what exactly, Jon could not say. It reminded him of that time when Father met him at the practice yard to oversee his trainings with Ser Arthur and he had told him that the invitation to go to court came from his little sister (Jon knew as much for Mother let him read Father’s letter in her solar), the youngest of King Aery’s line, who was three-and-twenty years Father’s junior. Jon hardly thought a girl of seven could be that thoughtful, knowing the implications of inviting someone back to court when he was banished from it in the first place, and he resented the fact that he’ll pretty much act as her chaperone. The letter did say that Father’s siblings Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys were sent to Harrenhal for a pleasure trip while Egg and Rhaenys had accompanied their mother, the Princess Elia, back to Dorne for Prince Doran’s nameday feast, rendering Father’s little sister to be alone at court; the letter has said as much that he was to be her companion for the time being.

It seemed that Father has read his thoughts for he regarded him with disappointed eyes and sighed before saying, _listen, she’s naive but pure of heart and her love of songs what’s solved my dilemma for years. She somehow came to know about my youngest son’s plight, ‘destined to only live in one place’ as she put it, and she’d cried that wonderful child, telling me how dreadful it was… and began to seek audience with the King for days. She’d present the King with her achievement in the noble arts once a day, always asking in return if she could meet her youngest nephew who was known to play the harp beautifully as her dear brother. She’d begged that she ‘only wanted to hear fine music.’ Father has… Father has never taken to persuasion, believing his own words than others, but if there’s someone who he’d at least lend his ear to and actually reconsider his actions by it, it would be my little sister’s. So it would be thanks to your aunt that the King welcomes you and your lady mother into court once more, and bestows more freedom than I could ever hope to provide._ Jon’s ears burned and he knew he was red-faced with shame by the time Father ended his lecture, but what wound him more so was the look of anguish Father had—in truth, Jon never gave thought that Father suffered from guilt, of what he had put his second wife and youngest son into, but Jon found that he knew less and less. His thoughts of Father then revolve on his worries after he’d married Mother: _was Father truly at peace, was he content, was there something else he’s looking for?_

So with more resolve he could muster, he pushed his feet and followed after Father traversing their way into Maegor’s Holdfast. Oh, he’d be sure to keep Father’s sister entertained if that’s what it took to earn favor from the King and lessen everyone’s burdens.

Father led Jon through the Queen’s Ballroom where a splendid small-scale reproduction of another holdfast welcomed him. There were five towers almost as tall as Jon and its curtain walls were oddly bent and discolored as if the stones used to build it were melted—with a start Jon recognized the holdfast as a miniature replica of Harrenhal. He turned to Father and he must have seen the disbelief in his eyes for his lips twisted into a resigned smile and said, “This was Viserys’ idea.”

As garish as it may be to function as a playground for children—of royal blood no less, Jon had found the place wicked in a thrilling sort of way, so he supposed it wasn’t all that bad and he could definitely see the appeal. The craftsmanship put in the making of the miniature holdfast was impressive besides.

Stepping closer, Jon examined the armory set up to his right, where wooden blades and arrows were scattered; it opened to a yard, _Flowstone Yard_ , if his recollection from his lessons served him right. _Across it must be the Wailing Tower_ , he thought racking his brain for the names of the other four towers around them.

Just then, a small tuneful voice cried out from what Jon had dubbed as the Wailing Tower. A small head with auburn hair protruded from within, piercing blue eyes scanning around briefly when they latched on immediately to Father, standing just beside it.

“Halt!” said the small voice, eyes bright while looking up at Father’s towering height, “In the name of Her Grace Sansa Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of The Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of  the Realm.”

Jon immediately snapped to attention at the introduction Father’s little sister made. His _little_ _aunt_ , whose tales Jon had heard so much, by Egg and Rhaenys who had claimed her a charming princess, and always by Father narrating his own stories with such fondness that he had always felt foolish after hearing him so, for the unbidden jealousy that bloomed in him for someone he hadn’t even met yet. It was a little worse when Mother mentioned her at times; she’d met the princess on a few occasions from her visits to the King’s Landing and it was clear she was well fascinated by her. Jon had overheard Mother and Ser Arthur talking about her once at Aegon’s Garden, _I’ve never seen someone act so much like a lady at five, Arthur! And she’s this dainty princess begging for stories of the North—I had wondered… what it’s like to have a daughter of my own._

Father then grinned, and Jon couldn’t look away because it’s one of Father’s rare smiles—the one that reached his eyes. “Protector of the Realm of Lemon Cakes, you mean?”

At this, the child Sansa, giggled joyfully. She then placed her small hand in front of her lips, Jon suspected, seemingly to stop them from quivering and when she looked back to Father, her face was composed—at least the top half was—as it was the only thing Jon could see from his distance,  the Wailing Tower hiding the rest of her.

“Who dares? Who comes into my castle without announcing his name?” Sansa stuck her nose upwards and crinkled them in an act that plainly said she was displeased.

Father instantly bowed, graciously even. “Pray excuse me, Your Grace, for my lack of courtesies. It is only so that I was blinded by Your Grace’s beauty that I momentarily forgot them.”

Jon couldn’t resist rolling his eyes but when it earned another melodious giggle from Sansa, he wondered if he’ll ever learn to speak like Father does. And then Jon caught himself, _speaking like Father does? Mother would be in hysterics!_

“I forgive you, but let that be your last trespass,” Sansa said demurely. “So what of your name, good ser?”

“This humble person has the honor of being Crown Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstrone. Your Grace, if you it please you, may I present to you my youngest son, Prince Jon of House Stark?”

Father beckoned Jon to come closer and he did, as he reached Father’s side and the front of the Wailing Tower, Sansa was waiting and watching him with expectant eyes.

“M—my lady… uuh, Y-Your Grace…” Jon trailed as he curtsied.

“Oh,” Sansa gasped. And then there were little noises inside the makeshift tower, as if Sansa was scrambling to do something.

Father openly laughed at her and placed his large hands on the tower’s battlements. “Here, let me help you Your Grace.”

Sansa nodded and Father hefted her out of the tower to stand in front of them. After straightening her posture, she dipped low to pay them both her most gracious courtesy. Jon hasn’t had much experience with receiving courtesies, the smallfolk tended to shy away from him whenever he ventured outside the walls of his home, but what the princess had done was of perfection if he ever saw one.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Prince Jon,” the princess said while peering through her lashes.

“As—as do I,” Jon responded, seemingly tongue-tied.

He now had a good look on his little aunt. Bright auburn hair that flowed down past her shoulders, dressed in soft wrapped black silks embroidered with utmost detail of a—a _godswood_ , Jon wondered in awe, eyes trailing after the careful stitches of redwoods and weirwoods on her gown. She looked every bit as regal as Father. _And very pretty_ , with round and stark blue eyes, plump cheeks and pink lips. _Even clothed in our house colors, she doesn’t look anything like a Targaryen same as me_ , Jon thought with a comfort.

For a while there was only silence, bordering uneasiness when Jon realized that Sansa was openly staring at him, her brows were knitted in concentration and there was something in her eyes that made Jon want to ask her what it was she was thinking. He turned to Father and found that his eyes were observing them with amusement.

“And to what do I owe the honor of your presence here, good sers?” Sansa asked, having broken from her stupor.

“We’ve heard tales of a fair maiden locked in this keep and we’ve sought to rescue her.” When Sansa crinkled her nose to that, seemingly expecting that one and desiring for another clever testament, Father opted to drop the act with a gracious shrug. “There was also an invitation for a celebration…”

“Oh… but that’s not until a turn of a moon—” then, Sansa’s face broke into a cheer and she went to hug Father as tightly as her lean arms could muster. For a girl of seven, she’s quick on the uptake.

Father lifted her again and placed kisses on his little sister’s cheeks. “It’s our intention to stay until your nameday feast, and two moons after. My son is in dire need of recess from Dragonstone, I’m afraid. And this being his first year in court, he’d need all the guidance you could offer, Your Grace.”

Jon knew his cheeks were burning. It was one thing for Father to talk of him to one person when he’s within hearing distance but another thing to talk of him to someone who’s stranger still but must be familiar.

“I’d love to teach him!” Sansa turned to him. “If that would please you my lord prince?”

“Yes, of course!” Jon quickly answered, realizing his mistake he began to stammer, “That is, well… I mean, yes it would please me Your Grace.”

Feeling quite the fool now for his blunders he lowered his eyes but not before he caught the exchanged looks Father and Sansa had—both were grinning, though not unkindly. Jon had noted that Father smiled easily when he’s with his sister.

He only looked up when a small hand was offered to him. Sansa was beckoning him towards her and though Jon felt weary he approached her and offered his own arm to her.

His little aunt clung to him deftly and said, “You can drop the much higher title now when we’re not in play. You can call me Princess Sansa or just plain Sansa if you like.”

“Then you can call me Jon, it’d only be fair.”

Sansa nodded approvingly. “Very well…” she paused some and looked at Jon from head to toe making Jon feel ever so small even though he’s a forehead taller than her. Her lips twisted into something reminiscent of Father’s quirk when he’s about to impart him great wonders of the world, “Oh, I must share you my first lesson, as I have had with Viserys just before he left for Harrenhal!” she leaned in closer and whispered, “Jon, in the presence of ladies, if it’s the first time you’ve met them and been introduced to, you’d do well to compliment their name.”

“Truly?” and Jon instantly regretted his words, for who was he to question her teachings, despite her being younger than him by three namedays? It was just that… he _had_ thought his words would sound as a tease and not a chide.

He had thought wrong as his little aunt admonished him with a crinkle of her nose. If he was not so busy cursing his self for being daft, he’d be sure to be endeared by her act.

“I’m not one for lying! Mother says she can catch my lie no matter if I try hard enough, Rhaegar and Dany too. It’s only Viserys that I could—” Sansa stopped her rambling and regarded Jon with appraising eyes, “Well?”

“I—I’d keep that in mind and I thank you for that, Sansa…” His little aunt managed to respond a soft smile at him and perhaps it was from that note that Jon wanted to curry her good favors more so he said, “You do have a pretty name.”

There was a pause—a short but nerve-wracking all the same—and then he was rewarded with her delightful chuckles.

 

#

 

A little over a week Jon has established a routine in King’s Landing, chiefly at Sansa’s behest. There was no cause to complain as Father placed him on his little sister’s care after all, and after being presented at the Great Hall a day later (and not when he’d first arrived to which some courtiers spoke in hushed tones that the King didn’t even want to receive him at his own gates so he’d given the task to his Hand and the Queen) and receiving the King’s glare from his Iron Throne all throughout, he’d rather do anything Sansa bid him to and go anywhere she pleased so long as it would make him avoid any interactions with his lord grandfather.

And so he’d broke his fast with his little aunt, attended lessons with her, ate lunch with her at Father’s solar and come afternoon they’d have free time by which Sansa would play the generous hostess and show him around the keep (her septa in tow but always a few paces behind). By evening just before supper, she’d insist on dancing lessons or learning how to play the harp, but after every meal she’d vanish swiftly to her chambers leaving Jon to spend his own time in the library until drowsiness kicked in. He hadn’t gotten around again to asking her why she did so, the first time he’d ask her she rebuked him in that gentle haughty mannerism of hers that he came to know well after that time he’d ask her to show him where the White Sword Tower was, for he had learned through Ser Arthur that its Round Room housed the remaining skulls of Targaryen dragons. Most of them remained adorning the walls of the Great Hall but he could not bring himself to go back there and admire the display when the King’s just at the center of it all.

“Ladies are not allowed to go there,” she said simply, avoiding his eyes.

“How so? Mother has been there, _Lady_ Lyanna of House Stark and _Lady_ of Dragonstone, escorted by Ser Arthur Dayne, the—”

“The Sword of the Morning, I know,” Sansa cut him off, large blue eyes shrinking into a glower.

Mayhaps his words were a bit spiteful but before Jon could spew out an apology, it hit him, “Why, are _you_ not allowed to go there?”

Sansa huffed and immediately turned red. _Red as pomegranate, Mother would have said_ , the added effect of her auburn hair braided and spun atop her small head surely made her look like one.

“Are you accusing me of not being allowed to wander around the Red Keep, my own home?”

Jon shook his head and decided to pacify her before he earned his little aunt’s full ire, “I only meant… just, tell what’s within the Round Room that’s not fit for you, then maybe I’ll learn it’s not fit for me too and I wouldn’t even ask to go there again.”

Sansa seemed to steel herself and her small hands sought Jon’s hands. When she got hold of them, she looked up and said, “You don’t understand Jon…”

“Then make me.”

The princess nodded to him, and then nodded at herself before squaring her shoulders in confession, “I’m the _one_ who’s not fit to go inside.”

“What? How could that be possible?”

“It’s what Viserys told me… you see, Viserys, Dany, Egg and Rhaenys, all five of us love playing around the keep and not just at the Queen’s Ballroom. We’d play Monsters-and-Maiden and Come-Into-My-Castle and Hide-The-Treasure and Spin-The-Sword. Well, the latter game’s what made everyone know that I feared…” at this Sansa paused for quite a while.

“Go on, whatever you have to say, I’d keep it to my grave.”

Sansa smiled a little and continued, “They found I have a fear for dragons, Jon. Which is such a silly thing for I have a Targaryen blood in me, blood of a noble family known as _dragonlords_ who’ve kept dragons much of their reign in the Seven Kingdoms,” as she went on her voice became tight and thick with derision on her own self, “Our house’s sigil’s a three-headed dragon breathing flames, our words are ‘Fire and Blood’ and I just have a silly, stupid fear for them! I could never stand to look at dragon skulls and bones. I’d have nightmares… Viserys and Rhaenys challenged me to go to the Round Room on my own when I lost a round and I had no choice but to go so I did, later Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell found me there, fainted and quite feverish. I just thought… ‘I’m a Targaryen, I could be brave’ but I only made a fool of myself.”

“You’re not a fool, trust on me that.”

“Yes, I am! Viserys suspects that I don’t have much Targaryen blood in me given how I favor the Tully features. Blood of a dragon, and I have a _fear_ from _them_.”

Jon shook his head at that. “It’s not a silly thing to fear Sansa,” he opted to calm her down by moving his thumbs in a circular motion on her palms, as he once saw Mother did to Ser Arthur when the knight learned of his sister’s grief from that foul news that her daughter to Uncle Brandon had been stillborn just after a wildlings’ party attacked Winterfell in the dead of night.

“Dragons are fearsome beasts after all! There’s nothing to fault you for it. If we’re talking about silly fears, then mine’s more stupid than yours could ever hope to be.” Jon leaned closer and whispered to the princess’ ear, “I have a fear for maggots.”

Sansa’s eyes bulged, “What? Maggots? How come, Jon?”

“I was six then. Mother, Ser Arthur and I were to visit the fishing village by the coast when a snake emerged from the path and spooked Ser Arthur’s horse. I was riding with him.” Sansa gasped at that, “Ser Arthur lost his hold of the reins long before the steed went wild for he was letting me hold it and so he had lost control altogether, plus I was his priority, holding me tightly as he could. Mother managed to catch up with us as she was an extremely skilled rider; she grabbed the reins yet not for long, it slipped her hand all the same but the strength of her pull must have veered the mount to where a large boulder was and the animal hit it, and soon Ser Arthur and I were thrown to the side and rolling down the hill. I suffered no wounds nor had scratches but Ser Arthur’s efforts of protecting me cost him his left leg.”

“Did he lose it?” there was panic in Sansa’s voice and concern filled her eyes.

“The gods were in our favor then. He had a terrible gash on his leg but Maester Cressen said it would heal properly—and that’s where the maggots came in. The Maester had to put several of those nasty looking buggers…” Jon looked at Sansa and began to hastily add, “If you excuse my saying so, he had to put it in Ser Arthur’s wound to avoid festering and Ser Arthur had to endure them for two days before the Maester removed them and began patching his skin.”

“That sounds… that sounds really disagreeable.”

“You can try awfully disgusting and the foulest of foul healing methods known by the Citadel. Since then, I have dreams where maggots were trying to crawl deep inside my skin.” And by saying it, Jon shuddered visibly.

Sansa openly laughed at that, a high sweet sound. _Not a giggle but a laugh_ , Jon noted with pleasure.

“Don’t let Grand Maester Aemon hear that but thank you, Jon. It was very kind of you, to make me feel better.” The princess then let their entwined hands drop. “I’m sorry I quarreled with you.”

“There’s no offense made, Sansa.”

“Still, I hope you’d let me make amends. I would ask Ser Barristan to accompany you to the Round Room, please.”

Jon could only bob his head in assent. He smiled at her as he thought: _she’s_ _ever the lady_ , _ever considerate_. Day by day he could see why everyone’s charmed by her.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“It was brave of Lady Lyanna to rescue both you and Ser Arthur by chasing the spooked horse. Like in the songs…” Sansa’s blue eyes were shining in wonderment. “I’d met her a few times before; she’d told me stories of the North and taught me Northern dances. She’s very beautiful and willful as Rhaegar describes her to be.”

“Yes, that’s Mother alright.” Jon’s lips pulled into a wider smile at that. For a moment Jon had glimpsed a doleful expression in Sansa but it vanished just before he could question her about it for she was talking again in excitement.

“Do you think—do you think we can write a song about her, about that time?”

“I don’t see why we can’t.”

That day they had found themselves writing songs about Mother, and then Father, arguing about how long it should be, what words they should use over another and spending a great time what their titles would be that they skipped supper and spent the rest of the evening writing even more songs about their fears, and things they like and love until Sansa mentioned something about her Mother visiting the godswood often that suddenly stopped Sansa dead in her tracks, and with a squeak she excused herself and bid Jon goodnight.

On the tenth day Sansa and Jon had made plans to visit the River Gate where they could visit the market square and the port where Jon intended to lecture Sansa about fishing. They had secured permission from Father and guards and attendants were readily assigned and posted, and the Queen has even expressed her wishes to join them which pleased Sansa so much the day before that she could not stop repeating the fact to whomever she’s spoken to, and so it was to Jon’s great disbelief that Sansa sent a messenger just before they broke their fast that she would not make it to their pre-arranged excursion.

Ser Barristan announced his arrival to Father’s chambers. “Your Grace, Prince Jon’s here to see you.”

“My lord father, have you seen Sansa?” Jon dispelled the curtsy he’s expected to give to hurry with his questioning.

“My lord father now, is it?” the corner of Father’s lips curled into a small grin as he examined his day’s attire in the mirror. “She’s made a quick work of you, my little sister… I haven’t seen her though Jon. Does she intend to see me before your party venture out to the River Gate?”

“That’s the plan… but a page came telling me that she won’t make it, and that she’s very very sorry. I went to her chambers to ask what seems to be the problem but Septa Mordane says she’s not there!” And when he saw the alarm glinted off Father’s eyes, Jon rambled on, “I’m worried Father. I’ve looked and asked around for her.”

Father strode to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “If you’ve looked anywhere else, then she must be at her mother’s chambers.”

“T—The Lady Catelyn’s? But—”

Father ignored Jon’s mumbles and turned to Ser Barristan instead, “Come to think of it, I’ve yet to hear Uncle Maester’s report on her condition since my return here.”

“Whose condition, Father?” if there’s anything he loathed, it’s the feeling when men of age ignore children’s voices.

Father sighed and said, “Sansa’s lady mother, Jon. Ser Barristan, if you could have someone summon Uncle Maester for me? Have him meet me at Lady Catelyn’s chambers.”

Ser Barristan nodded, “At once Your Grace.” The knight’s white cloak rustled in his haste.

Father then pushed Jon to the door, “Let’s go find Sansa.”

It was Sansa’s cries that awaited them when they entered Lady Catelyn’s solar. “I don’t understand Great Uncle, why wouldn’t you let me see Mother?! She needs me.”

She was currently perched atop a knight’s embrace, head buried in his chest; from the colors of his armor there was no mistake he’s from Sansa’s Mother’s side of the family.

The handmaiden announced their presence almost as an afterthought.

“Rhaegar?” Sansa looked up and all they saw was distraught marring her pretty face, her eyes were rimmed red from sobbing nonstop. “Mother—she’s—no one will tell me.”

It was Jon’s first time to see Sansa ruffled, _the young lady, the charming princess_ , but he surely didn’t wish to see it in such a circumstance—he’d imagined she’d be once they practice horse ride, or when they soon play out in the sun, or when they go fishing—certainly never in a heartbreaking way like this. She’s shaking and her continuous whimpers sent daggers, cutting Jon’s skin and making him feel utterly helpless.

Father reached out to Sansa and the knight who was holding her reluctantly put her in his arms.

“It’s alright dear sister, everything’s going to be.”

“I’m afraid… that it wouldn’t.” Sansa said in a whisper, voice so brittle.

That alone made Jon’s heart go out to her, so he walked to where Father was standing to clutch Sansa’s small hands. She pressed her hands to him in return, letting him know that she appreciated the gesture.

Grand Maester Aemon came not long after, ushering everyone out except for the knight who Sansa called Great Uncle for some questioning. Sansa asked to stay but the Grand Maester shook his head despondently, so Jon convinced her to pray at the Sept instead. Father insisted as well, saying that he would like to pray for Lady Catelyn’s health and so Sansa agreed albeit halfheartedly. Father lighted the candles for the Mother, Crone, as well as the Stranger at Sansa’s request. Then, he ordered for Sansa to eat some meal with Jon as he returned back to Lady Catelyn’s chambers to fetch for news. After eating a measly share Sansa asked Jon, to his surprise, to accompany her to the godswood.

“I didn’t know you keep to the old gods,” he’d asked after they both stood in front of a great oak made to look like a heart tree with a carved face on it.

“I don’t… not particularly, but Mother often visits here to gather her thoughts. She also once told me that it reminds her of someone close to home and that it always gave her great comfort and strength in return. So when… she has her spells, I’d visit the godswood in her stead to ask the old gods to watch over her.”

“Mother’s of the North and people there keep to the old gods. I do as well. I’ll help you pray to them Sansa.”

His little aunt nodded at him gratefully and they both went to kneel in front of the weirwood. Sansa prayed at great length but she’d kept her prayers to herself. Her soft whispers were carried by the summer air, enveloping them in a warm embrace. When Sansa made to stand, Jon was on his feet at once, pulling her up. The two of them spotted a bench beside the fountains and they made their way to it to recline.

Jon handed her a kerchief and Sansa claimed it with a murmur of thanks, Silence seeping in, not before long. Jon watched as the princess dabbed at her face to wipe away the tears that tracked her cheeks and chin. Before he could catch his self, his own hand was reaching for her face and Sansa eyed it, tiredness in them, as she bobbed her head in consent. He then tucked stray hairs away from her face and the princess leaned herself to his touch.

“If you… don’t mind my asking, I noticed you rarely talk about the Lady Catelyn.”

Sansa’s face fell some at that and she looked away from him. “I—I don’t want to burden anyone… When someone mentions Mother within my hearing, they’d look at me with pity, and then they’d feel sorry for themselves—and I—I hated those times Jon! So I kept mum and then everyone else’s doing it too. They find it so easy not to speak about the King’s bedridden-wife… Some even talk and act as if Mother’s already dead… I just, all I ever wanted was to preserve Mother’s pride and honor as she is.”

“Not talking about her must be hard for you.”

“There’s my Great Uncle Brynden… Rhaegar and Dany to ease me.”

“If you like, you can talk about her to me too... I want to hear about her.” Sansa looked so unsure so Jon went on, “I—I think it best if you talk freely of her instead of minding if anyone’s burdened by it. She’s very much alive and talking about her will surely remind everyone else of her place here. She deserves that, as the second wife to the King and a noble lady from one of the great houses in the realm.”

“I… suppose that’s right.”

“You can start by telling me her mannerisms, what her voice sounds like.”

“Her voice…” and Jon realized it was the wrong thing to say for Sansa was already tearing up at the thought of her, but when Jon’s ready to spring out a dozen of apologies he remembered Sansa’s words, of how people had talked with her about her Mother only to stop when sentiments began lurking about—of how the subject made them uncomfortable and placed it before Sansa’s own feelings. He cursed himself for almost ruining the first chance he has and swallowed the apologies on his lips and urged her on instead.

“Mother always has the sternest voice, yet can be delivered in a gentle manner. I don’t know how she does it but it’s what she does to have someone do her bidding.” Sansa managed a weak smile. “She also has a clear singing voice. And I miss the times she’d sing me to sleep. I truly miss her.”

Sansa then told Jon that it was a little over a year ago, at least what Grand Maester Aemon had suspected, when the disease struck Lady Catelyn. She was a strong woman, and everyone could attest to it by how she’d kept to her duties to the crown. She’d visit the orphanage and instruct the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting and manage the royal household when the Queen’s burdened with affairs with the Small Council, which happened more often than not. She’d only complained of headache every now and then and the lady mostly dismissed the pains she’d felt as something she’d easily overcome. So it was to everyone’s shock when she fainted and fell down from her horse on their way to the Great Sept to hear of that week’s sermon. That was eight moons ago, and the following months after were quite hard for everyone especially for Sansa for she was forbidden to see her mother until they were sure that whatever illness the lady had contracted was not something contagious and may prove terminal for children. After the fourth turn of the moon, Sansa has been granted freedom to her mother’s chambers.

“And she’s—Mother, she’s very much changed. She’s sickly thin and always had this faraway look. There are times… that she won’t even remember me. That’s when her spells would come, she’d cried so hard for the pain in her head, begging for someone to make it stop, and always apologizing for someone… she’d call out to that one person that seems to haunt her and beg for forgiveness and understanding. And Mother’s always been honorable, kind and generous and I don’t understand how she’d wrong someone… but she believes it to be true. Great Uncle Brynden told me it’s the product of her afflicted mind but I’ve always wondered if that’s all there is to it.” Sansa paused some and looked back at the weirwood trees before continuing, “I’ve wanted to talk with Mother about her burdens so that I may help her with it, but what can I merely do? I’m only allowed occasionally to see her on daylight for fear that I may drain her or put more unnecessary stress to her.”

“Is that… where you’d disappear to in the evenings?”

His little aunt nodded. “I can only stand vigil when she’s already sound asleep.”

And Jon understood just how sad and lonely Sansa truly was, and how blind he was for not seeing it. True, she hid it well with her courtesies and smiles but once you knew her circumstance you’d instantly see it in how she carried herself, a princess who’s mature past her young years, with the air of thoughtfulness about her. And he could now fathom why Father had never wanted for his little sister to be alone at court, even just for a few moons without one who’s close to her age, for fear that the times would rob Sansa of her youthful enthusiasm.

“Lady Catelyn must have missed you just as much… Mayhaps we can talk to the Grand Maester to grant you more leeway in your daylight visits? I’m sure it’d put more stress to her that she can’t see her child’s state, as all mothers.”

Sansa glanced down at her lap. “Mayhaps… b—but I’m afraid, Jon. Part of why I’m not allowed to see her in the first place was that Mother’s memories had become fuzzy of late. Like I said, there are times she’d forget that she ever had a child, that she married the King, that she’s now living in King’s Landing. And seeing me would confuse her and would result in her spells. But I was told she’s getting better, and that she’s been asking for me. I just, think I can’t bear it if I see her again and she won’t recognize me.”

“Not in her heart of hearts, and you know that. It’s okay to be scared but you just have the courage to try. _Family, Duty, Honor_ , isn’t that right?”

And then Sansa looked at him with surprise. “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

 

#

 

Jon fidgeted under Sansa’s Great Uncle’s bright piercing eyes—the renowned Brynden the Blackfish—it didn’t help that he grew up with the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne, he just didn’t know how to compose himself in front of the knight standing guard to Lady Catelyn’s chambers. Ser Brynden Tully, with his towering height, lined features and grey hair, made his presence a commanding one, demanding great respect that Jon had to steel himself from curtsying again when the knight bowed low to _him_ when he first entered Lady Catelyn’s solar, for then it would just be a series of endless curtsies from the two of them.

“You’re here to present yourself to the Lady Catelyn?” he’d asked.

“As is customary,” Jon found himself answering in a petulant tone, court rules had always annoyed him, but now’s not the right time to be sullen about it so he continued in a much respectful voice, “The princess asked me to accompany her to her visit to the Lady Catelyn. It’s high time that I meet her, she said.”

“I suppose,” the knight muttered, almost in a grumble.

“If—if my presence proves difficult for the lady’s… for the lady’s delicate state, I’ll go.” Jon said weakly.

“We’d have to find that out first now, don’t we my prince?” Ser Brynden eyed him carefully. “My great great niece asked you besides. I’m sure it’ll help her in there. She’ll be given something to do instead of just wondering if she’ll ask her lady mother how well she is. You go on then.”

The knight even moved some from his post as if the way inside the chambers was not large enough for Jon to pass through. Nevertheless, Jon replied, “Thank you, ser.”

“Cat…” Jon turned to the knight and there was an unreadable look on him when he spoke again, “Lady Catelyn would appreciate that my prince, I’m sure.” Ser Brynden nodded at what Jon was holding in his left hand.

He nodded in return. “It was the princess’ idea, in truth.”

Ser Brynden, to Jon’s shock, smiled a rugged smile that has a warming effect to one’s person. “Should’ve figured that, our princess holds a shrine to bards and musicians after all.”

Despite Jon’s attempts, his own lips pulled into a smile remembering that one afternoon when he’d played the harp to Sansa for hours on end. His fingers and knuckles were sore for playing almost nonstop but he hasn’t had the heart to rest just when she’s smiling brightly, listening attentively and in great wonder and her eyes were looking at _all_ of him with such reverence he just had to please her even if it meant that he’d break some skin off his fingers and that he would have a hard time crafting letters to Mother and Ser Arthur back home. And so the day after, he tried to avoid Sansa. He did not broke his fast with her and did not attend lessons but the princess managed to corner him after he visited Father’s workplace, Ser Barristan walking with her with a guilty look on his face. When she saw the state of his hands, dressings wrapped in each finger that it made the matter outwardly all the more serious when they were really just scratches and minor cuts (that he and one page seeing to his chambers had worked with, instead of asking for a maester) Sansa fussed as if he’s suffered major wounds, eyes already brimmed with tears—the reason why he didn’t want for her to see them in the first place—as a result, his little aunt hadn’t asked him to play the harp for her again, and made no mention of it altogether that it made Jon reconsider if he should be the one offering it to her, he could definitely see it from the way she’d glanced at him sometimes after her harp lessons.

_But now I’ll play to her again, and to the Lady Catelyn. Here’s to hoping the lady takes after her daughter._ The lady saw him first before Sansa when he wandered inside and there was an instant tormented look about her when her sky blue eyes so like Sansa settled on him, as if she’s seen a ghost. Sansa turned to Jon, her smiling face slipping into confusion; she must have seen her mother’s response to him. Jon’s already been fearing the worst with thoughts of _maybe Lady Catelyn’s not fit to meet new faces, maybe it’s too much a strain to ask her so, maybe I surprised her in some way?_ when he remembered his manners, and so Jon bowed low and said in as courteous a voice he could muster, “Forgive me, my ladies for not announcing my presence. I’d thought to ask Ser Brynden but I feared it a disservice to ask of such from a celebrated knight like him.”

“Please don’t tell me my uncle terrorized you in some way, good ser.” It was the Lady Catelyn’s voice. Stern and gentle just as Sansa has described. When Jon looked up, he saw that her face now was serene, her lips pulled ever so little in a good-natured smile. He wondered if what he saw earlier was just his fancy, he’s pretty nervous to meet Sansa’s lady mother as it was.

Jon could now see the trace of how the lady’s sickness has consumed her—by her pasty skin, hollowed cheeks and small lines around her eyes—yet her striking blue eyes and unbound red tresses made all the difference, there’s quiet strength within continuously fighting back against her frail condition. And Jon could see how beautiful Sansa’s mother is, where the princess certainly took after.

“He’s a terror in his own way, to be sure my lady. But not enough to stop me from coming here.”

Sansa took that as her cue and she stood up at once. “Mother, let me introduce him to you.”

Lady Catelyn nodded as she too began to stand.

Sansa gestured towards him and Jon walked to her side, a smile already in place on the princess’ face. “The good ser here is Prince Jon Stark of Dragonstone. Son of Lady Lyanna of House Stark, the second-born son of Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen.”

“I’m pleased to meet you my lord prince.” And same with Sansa, Jon received another gracious curtsy from the lady that this time he hasn’t stopped himself from bowing low again.

Sansa giggled heartily and even Lady Catelyn looked quite amused herself.

Jon’s fears receded at that, as the lady invited him to dine with them just as she ordered a maid to call for Ser Brynden to join them in their supper as well.

When they were all seated around the small dining table next to the balcony overlooking the gardens, the knight entered with a reproachful look on his face, “It only came to me that I didn’t pronounce the prince’s arrival. Forgive me, my ladies, my prince.”

Lady Catelyn only pressed her lips in response while Sansa reproached the knight to Jon’s astonishment.

“I’d wondered what you were thinking then Great Uncle,” the princess said with a turn of her nose.

“This… is what kept my mind off my manners, my princess,” just then Ser Brynden carefully produced a plate full of lemon cakes seemingly from out of thin air. “I’d thought of personally fetching them fresh from the ovens when Prince Jon told me he’s to join you lot to your evening meal.”

“Oh, no harm done then,” Sansa immediately dismissed the matter while eyeing the said plate with childish glee.

Jon felt utterly dismayed by that— _on one hand she’s standing up for me, only to be betrayed by sweets the next_.

Lady Catelyn must have a keen sense for the words she uttered after. “My dear princess is known for her love of lemon cakes Uncle. You’d only spoil her appetite.”

Sansa then looked greatly abashed, her lips pouting sadly. “I only meant to take them after supper, Mother.”

Ser Brynden answered in a placating tone, “See? Our princess has her table manners about her still.”

Sansa’s mother looked as if she’s meant to argue the case some more when two maids arrived with additional plates and dishes. Soon the little squabble was forgotten as they all started their dinner. The subject of that evening’s meal was Jon and his life in Dragonstone, and usually he’d twiddle being the center of attention but if it help everyone have a nice normal chat instead of measuring each of their questions and responses around Lady Catelyn’s state he’d be, albeit reluctant, center of attention a thousand times over. It was nice to see Sansa so animated with her mother besides and judging by how Ser Brynden’s warming up to him, his presence must have brought a nice dynamic to Lady Catelyn’s pace as well. It was the lady who brought up different sorts of questions for him to answer after all: how was the Lady Lyanna? _Well, thank you for asking my lady, but missing my company if only for her to have someone to fuss over—Mother’s words._ How’s she seen to the keep’s affairs? _With the help of Maester Cressen and Ser Arthur._ How is the knight faring? _Well enough I suppose, although he constantly laments a lack of a good fight._ And Ser Brynden quipped that it’ll be thousands of years before someone is born to best the legendary knight. And then Sansa was asking tales of the Sword of the Morning to which each of them, Ser Brynden, Lady Catelyn and him had told her several stories of their own, painting the knight as the legend he was. By the end, Sansa had declared he wanted to marry someone like Ser Arthur, _a knight of songs_ , and Ser Brynden jest once more that Sansa would end up a maid _if only for the fact that the poor lad seeking your hand would first have to fight his way through Viserys, Rhaegar, Egg, your Uncle Edmure, Prince Jon here even, the Kingsguard not to be forgotten, and all the knights sworn to House Targaryen and House Tully before he could reach you and do as he please._ Sansa looked crestfallen at that, asking if her judgment alone doesn’t even stand. _Of course it does, but you’re our beloved princess and we want what’s best for you, and you only deserved someone who’s brave and gentle and strong,_ Lady Catelyn said. Jon noted there was a brief longing in her eyes before the lady continued that Sansa’s expected to marry someone of great station besides so she needn’t worry about it. Sansa mumbled that she expected her future husband to be well-found in musical instruments as well and Ser Brynden and Lady Catelyn both chortled at that, Jon doing his best to hide his grin but failing; Sansa saw it at once, to which she answered with a dignified huff and the table’s been served with laughter from the three of them, disconcerting the princess all the more.

Jon and Sansa were on their way to her chamber, hands clasped together (Septa Mordane always made a noise to hint at her displeasure of the contact whenever they do so but she wasn’t around and they hadn’t cared much for propriety that time). She was thanking him for the lovely evening, commenting at how everything went well.

“It’s been such a long time since I last saw Mother that untroubled. I just knew your presence helped a lot.”

“You praise me so. But I know as well that it’s nice for Lady Catelyn to have you about her and hear of your progress with your lessons. I’m sure your company’s what she’s craved for so long. I see it in her eyes.”

His little aunt smiled that small smile, the one Jon remarked as endearing out of all her pretty smiles, because she felt humbled and quite uncertain of what to do next—something very like the girl Sansa was, not the _lady Sansa_ , not the _princess Sansa_ but just the young girl Sansa. So Jon, with a small hammering in his heart squeezed her hand.

“I learned something new today.”

“What is it?”

“That the princess holds a shrine to musicians and bards but she’s equally someone to be marveled at in the same aspect.”

Sansa blushed deeply and so prettily and Jon opted to burn the memory to his lids. He was speaking of that time when he and Sansa planned to show Lady Catelyn after their supper, of her progress with playing the harp by playing one of the lady’s favorite songs, only Jon was so surprised when they did so for Sansa accompanied their playing with her small sweet singing voice.

“What a flattery I didn’t expect you can utter, my prince.”

Jon grinned, learning another fact about her: that she’d turn to teasing and chiding when she’s embarrassed. “I have my Father to thank for that.”

Sansa laughed to that, “You are indeed your Father’s son. I’m not the only one to be marveled at when you play the harp like it’s the extension of your own hand,” a thought struck Sansa then and she squeezed his hand in hers. “We make a good pair, don’t we?”

Jon didn’t understand what she meant by the statement—what a girl of seven could be implying anyway and what a boy of ten should think of it even—but his heart was hammering like mad now and he nodded unreservedly at it. “Yes, yes we’re quite a pair.”

 

#


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired and loosely based on the tale Thousandfurs (from Allerleirauh: All-Kinds-of-Fur) and Cinderella by the Brothers Grimm
> 
> Rough summary of the tale for those who are unfamiliar with it: "A king promised his dying wife that he would not marry unless it was to a woman who was as beautiful as she was, and when he looked for a new wife, he realized that the only woman that could match her beauty was his own daughter." (from Wiki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all the readers who gave me kudos!!! \o/ And to the new readers, hullo!  
> As promised! Here's Part 2 of Chapter 1.  
> As always, happy reading!

 

 

_Time future (Side B)_

 

 

 _A dream-within-a-dream_ , Sansa mused at how the gods had allowed for her to be overjoyed these past two weeks. Mother’s getting better as each day passed, with her spells being few in incidence that Grand Maester Aemon permitted her to enjoy a bit of sunshine without. And so, Sansa and Jon decided to push through their trip to the River Gate that has been cancelled a fortnight before. That day went as smoothly as possible, Sansa recalled. Mother endured the short trip from her palanquin with the Queen Rhaella accompanying her, Ser Barristan, Great Uncle Brynden, and a few other guards riding beside them. Sansa’s leading the party where she was riding with her dear brother Rhaegar, at her wish; she’d silently thanked the gods then that Rhaenys wasn’t present for she would have thrown a tantrum that her father’s favoring her again than his own daughter— _but then, Rhaenys knew how to ride and if she were here, she’d likely to ride her own steed and won’t be sour at me at all._ So Sansa focused her attention to that day’s affairs and to her nephew Jon, riding his own pony with such ease she wished she’d be taught to ride one of her own come her eight nameday. The smallfolk parted a way for them, each with their own blessings and courtesies on their lips. Ser Oswell rode beside Rhaegar, keeping an eye on each of them while answering a few gallantries with choice words and jests that served to please and goad their revelry even more. Their retainers were trailing at each side so that their party was flanked by guards and servants, much to the royal family’s safety. And no commotion even came after they reached the port. There was a small dais and canopy set up at the farthest end where few of the crown’s fleet were hoisted, Admiral Jon Oakenfist awaiting them at the side. Rhaegar ordered for their party to stop and arrange a meal for them all before they set out to the ships and try fishing. Sansa watched as maids and pages see to their work, transforming the dais fit to hold the nobles. After lunch, Jon had begged Rhaegar to give them leave to start fishing but her brother had reproved his son’s impatience, remarking that the sun’s still high up in the sky. The master-of-ships even added that since they’re using one of the swan ships, they’d be helpless if they’ve already been becalmed high in the afternoon, just at the start of their cruise. _Best wait for favorable winds, my prince,_ Admiral Oakenfist advised.

So they passed the time learning how to play the cyvasse from watching Mother and Queen Rhaella went at it. She’d found the game too consuming with setting up tactics on every game’s pieces but Jon seemed allured to it, though, she noted with much amusement at how every pieces’ tasks and moves kept slipping off Jon’s memory, confusing one for the other, but her nephew’s stubborn to acknowledge it when she pointed it out again and again that he kept eyeing her suspiciously as if she already learned the game well before him and feigning ignorance only. And Jon’s not quite wrong in his judgment, not really, for she had watched Rhaenys and Egg, Viserys and Dany play the game although she did just that—watch without ever trying to bother how to truly play it despite the countless times she’d seen it—after rules of the game were drilled on to them, Queen Rhaella asked if she could watch a game from the prince and princess and when she noticed their hesitance, she’d said: _as a favor and a leeway, I’d even allow counselors to you both, each of your own choosing._ And so when Jon eagerly named Rhaegar as his counselor Sansa thought it fair. She named Great Uncle Brynden her counselor for his prowess in stratagem during the War of the Ninepenny Kings and hoped they’d at least get a chance against her dear brother’s brilliant mind.

As the game went on, however, it seemed that chances were in abundance on Sansa’s side. It started easily enough, with Jon and his father’s plot for a direct approach, testing Sansa and her Great Uncle’s battle formation before setting out their course of action next when her Great Uncle urged for her to sacrifice a catapult piece for one that utterly outranked it, Jon’s elephant piece, that Sansa in a murmur, dismayed to lose one valuable piece but Great Uncle answered that it’s only a small price to pay so reluctantly Sansa moved the piece for the taking. Jon looked confused at her choice of movement for a few beats until realization clearly dawned on his long face and he moved a much valuable piece, his dragon, to the farther end of his side of the board, which Sansa thought would not be a casualty given their course of action… until Sansa looked at the board long and hard and deduced what Great Uncle Brynden’s been scheming. The prince and princess both jumped when in chorus Rhaegar laughed openly and Great Uncle spewed curses into the summer air. This got everyone’s attention, and suddenly a crowd of knights and servants gathered about them, hard-pressed to watch the spectacle unfolding. Sansa supposed she’d mind the heat and how the humid air made her skin feel sticky but what she could not spare thinking was suffering an easy defeat before everyone’s eyes. And so she took Great Uncle Brynden’s suggestions to heart, testing them all in her head and keeping the ones she thought best and would knock Jon’s defenses hard. Not before long, Jon’s pieces were falling one by one, much to her nephew’s frustrations until something flashed in Jon’s eyes at one whisper from Rhaegar. Sansa became cautious of her next actions and Great Uncle advised that they’re likely feigning their moves but when most of her spearmen and crossbowmen were toppled off by Jon’s seemingly innocuous heavy horses, Sansa could not stop the wail from escaping her lips. Jon had the grace to look shamefaced at least but she answered that with a huff of her own, echoing Great Uncle’s words, _a small price to pay_ , and everyone within hearing distance and understanding of the game hooted and cheered. _That’s our princess! That’s Targaryen blood for you. What now Prince Jon?! Your move, your next move should be decisive my princess!_ Rhaegar ruminated that he only learned from his wife Princess Elia, whose Dornish blood were taken to cyvasse as much as Targaryen blood were taken to fiery tempers. Sansa knew her cheeks burned at the light jab, but she knew too that her brother meant no true harm for he was insulting himself as well, so instead her eyes sought Mother and she was watching her with bright eyes and such pride it made Sansa’s heart burst into boldness, so she set her chin down to scout the board for any potential plot, with a resolve she’d found greater than the one she mustered that day she decided to take up Viserys and Rhaenys' challenge of going alone to the Round Room. It was then that Great Uncle Brynden, with his warm smoky voice whispered into her ear: _Should’ve told you this earlier. But_ _my first rule of war, princess, is never give the enemy his wish._ Sansa made note of that and thanked her Great Uncle dearly as she lined the mountain tiles and set her remaining trebuchets and catapults below it while hiding the king deep within three fortresses, guarding it with her three remaining spearmen. Jon drew back harshly, cocked his head to the side and Sansa knew that he was expecting her to retaliate after her outburst and not arrange a defense on the board. Rhaegar even moved from his chair to carefully examine it as Sansa hid a smile from slipping out, because in truth, she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore, only safeguarding the king with the pieces left to her, but if they could feign their ploy so could she—only there was never a ploy to begin with. Great Uncle must have known the farce she’s playing for simply _knowing_ her that the knight burst into loud guffaws that set the others around into a chorus of buzzes, examining moves to be and _must be_ taken. This made Jon’s brow knit together and Sansa could see the hesitance in his fingers as he move his spearmen and light horses forward only to be removed from the board by her catapults and trebuchets. A direct attack, really, for that was all that she could afford. She’s long lost her elephants and horses both light and heavy, all of her crossbowmen, three of her spearmen, and two of her dragons, but if Jon intended to cross her side of the board, he must cross her mountain tiles and only dragon pieces have no movement penalty. And the Prince of Dragonstone couldn’t take the risk for each of her trebuchets and catapults could remove his three dragon pieces easily. And so she moved her one last remaining dragon over the five fortresses guarding Jon’s king at each of her turns, removing them on the board, while Jon’s turns only served him to lose his pieces one by one, as they cross her side of the board just to reach her king. _I believe this game is done; your king is trapped, my prince. Death in three._ And then, everyone’s applauding, commending Sansa for her efforts, acknowledging her Great Uncle’s influence and offering consolations to Prince Jon, who seemed to be in a daze, his grey eyes bright in the afternoon light and mouth hanged open in stupefaction.

After several beats, her nephew scrambled to stand at once and nodded his head to her in acknowledgement, a smile on his face. “Well played, my princess.”

“Only because you’re a fierce opponent, my prince,” she’d answered with a smile of her own, heart fluttering madly at her victory.

Jon opened his mouth seemingly to argue a point when they heard the master-of-ships stated to Rhaegar that they’re ready to sail, if command was given. She and Jon shared a look and both turned to the crown prince expectantly. Sansa’s brother was already on his feet, gesturing for them to go and they both got out of the canopy tent in an instant. And that day passed in a whirlwind of activity—Great Uncle and Jon both taught her how to fish using a hook and a line and even though the sea water drenched her gown of blue and silver with foamy Myrish lace and seed pearls, the one Princess Elia gifted her at her seventh nameday, decidedly one of her favorite gowns, she hadn’t cared much then. Mother’s been regaling them of stories about the Battle of the Six Kings due to Queen Rhaella’s prodding and Sansa’s so exultant that things seemed to return to the days of old (where chatters center on pleasant things, even mundane stuff and not settling on grim and halting ones) that she’d found fussing over a ruined gown more a chore. Ser Oswell complained of the heat several times that Great Uncle had to cuff his helmet in a good-natured reproach, only its distinctive design of bat-wings tangled with his gauntlets that Great Uncle had a hard time prying it off of him, and the two cursed in as polite a manner as they could with the royalty and a few nobility about them, and eventually failing, to everyone’s amusement. The Queen then asked for some refreshments and entertainment, a song from their princess to sooth their nerves and Sansa happily obliged; Rhaegar went to her with his harp at the ready, the way they had grown accustomed to whenever one from their family begged for a song, ever since the two of them presented a song to the King on his nameday feast when she’s just five but could recall poems and songs with ease; she had to whisper to him that she’ll sing the song The Mermaid’s Lament, the one handmaiden Shae taught her, and her brother nodded knowingly. After their display, Sansa spied several maids hiding their eyes, bright with tears, while the male servants and some knights shuffled and shifted seemingly burdened with something. The Queen and two of her ladies-in-waiting, the Lady Janna Tyrell and Lady Allyria Dayne, who accompanied their trip, took to clapping then, praises spilling from their mouths. Lady Janna even remarked that with her auburn hair and gown of blue silk that brought out the color of her eyes, she truly looked like a mermaid reborn, enchanting them with her voice. Lady Allyria even added that it’s _the reason why the men in this ship are seemingly transfixed as if they’re impaled with oars up their…_ , and she wouldn’t say anymore after that, but everyone who heard her took to grinning and howling while shaking their heads. Sansa heard her Great Uncle commented something offhandedly to no one in particular but she noticed how it made Jon look so flustered and wouldn’t look at her again in the eye that she’d half a mind to ask Great Uncle to repeat his words. But then a shout came from one of the male servants that a large fish caught Jon’s bait, the one he’s tasked to guard while the prince was served with refreshments, and Jon hastily took off after it to help the lad haul his catch. The two of them successfully heaved the fish into their ship and Great Uncle, Mother and Rhaegar went to their side so Sansa joined them. _Gods above, the prince caught a trout! A large one at that!_ Great Uncle Brynden remarked. _Odd_ , Mother commented and when she asked why that was so, it was Great Uncle who explained that her lady mother’s observation was more on the fact of the fish’s coloring—silver with a broad reddish stripe from its gills to the tail—an odd thing for trout living in the ocean generally have vivid colors and patterns. _Mayhaps, it’s meant to leave the ocean? Uncle Maester once told me that there’s a study in the Citadel about ocean trout that wander to freshwater come spawning time, that they change their colors for reasons unknown_ , her brother recounted. And because it was the crown prince who has spoken so, with such intelligence in his deep violet eyes, they seized his words as fact. And later, Sansa would remember vividly how petrified she had felt, looking at the poor fish flapping on the wooden boards gasping for air, how uncanny its resemblance to Mother’s House sigil except for the red stripe across its body that looked like an angry fatal wound.

 

#

 

“My, you look pensive today, princess. Almost as if Jon the Glum passed his misery unto you.”

“Please don’t call your brother that,” Sansa chastised Egg and placed her needlework on top of the trestle table next to the fireplace mantel. She and her nephew were currently sitting in front of the fireplace, the latter one lounging and lying down next to her, making the long velvet settle cramped with his lanky build. She then eyed Jon across the hall, who was moving about as taut as a bowstring, one would never guess he was practicing dance moves from Dorne. His sister Rhaenys (to Jon’s relief, Sansa would bet) led the dance. The youngest prince, sadly, has never taken to dancing as he has taken to playing the harp. “It’s only a few days that you came back and already you’ve named him names.”

Aegon Targaryen, her brother’s first-born son, laughed unapologetically, eyes fixed on the high arched windows along the south wall. “Oh, but I’ve named him names the first time I’ve met him, back at Dragonstone. With his grey eyes and long face and dark curls—he’s just Morose reborn! Jon the Sullen, Jon the Crestfallen, Jon the Dour, Jon the Dejected, Jon the—”

Sansa could not stop her eyes from rolling so she cut him off to keep him from being overheard, afraid that the music accompaniment from the minstrels for Jon and Rhaenys’ dance, as well as the heavy beat of the rain outside, not enough to drown their voices. “No, he isn’t.”

“You could not see it, truly?” Egg pressed, this time boring his eyes onto her as he looked up.

“He’s a bit timid and quiet most of the time—and well—”

Egg grinned in understanding. “I hear what you’re saying. Did you notice how Jon has father’s eyes?”

And when Sansa’s brows knit together, Rhaegar’s heir began to explain. “Not the color violet… but the deepness and lament in it. When I first saw him, looking every bit as his lady mother, I told myself that he’s a Stark through and through but when I looked hard enough, I see it. I see Father in him.”

“I can see it too… I think,” despite the need to defend her other nephew, the princess halfheartedly admitted. She has sometimes seen her brother’s ghost in Jon, in the way he slumped his shoulders in weariness, in the way he looked down to the side whenever he’s in doubt and in the way he’d gently look at her, trying to discern her thoughts.

“And yet you’re still torn,” Egg noted and shifted back his eyes to watch again the heavy rain pitter patter against the windowpanes of the hall. “I suppose it’s because they’re all smiles when they’re with you. And those are their truest smiles, mind you,” the prince paused for some time but then he shook his head and spoke once more. “But let’s get back to our first point of conversation and discuss why you’re feeling down.”

Sansa sighed and let her hands tangle with Egg’s fair hair. “I just worry about the rain, if it’ll keep raining hard this week just before my nameday and if it’ll keep Dany and Viserys from coming back just before the feast…”

“Oh, they’ve just been delayed. You needn’t worry much... else your face will stretch down and you’ll look as tart as Jon the—”

“Solemn? That’s much a better sounding title than the others.” It was Jon, popping behind the settle, catching them both unaware that Sansa yelped and Egg fell down to the carpet from her sudden movement. Rhaenys laughed as she plopped down next to her, imitating her brother’s former position on the settle, while earning snooping looks from the minstrels exiting the hall.

“We’re very sorry for interrupting your sewing circle, ladies,” the princess said, pointedly looking at Egg, black eyes shining with mischief. “But after quite a few dances and stepped-on toes, I’m finally convinced that Jon still has two left feet, so it isn’t much of a choice that I decided to stop the farce Jon’s playing and rather hear this talk of yours that’s proven to be quite the entertainment.”

Egg groaned and hissed at her sister. “You wonderful snitch.”

Jon, who was leaning still behind the settle propped his right hand under his chin, lower lip curled in a smirk. “Now, now, brother. It isn’t right to accuse a lady when you’ve no proof. I, on the other hand, happen to have two ears and a head on my shoulders to tell that someone’s been running off his mouth, deciding what’s the next best title for Jon after Prince of Dragonstone.”

Egg rolled on the floor, hands covering his face as he groaned long and hard. “I was trying to be subtle.”

“You need more effort in that, apparently.”

Sansa pressed her lips from breaking into a smile, let alone for a laugh to escape from her. Septa Mordane has always lectured about it being unladylike to do so in front of others but it was truly hard to stick at it whenever Egg and Rhaenys were around. And now, Jon even included among them—it seemed that his two eldest siblings had successfully planted a seed of devilry in him.

And then Egg stopped trashing at once, a sly smile forming on his lips as he peeled his hands away from his face so alike to Rhaegar. “I don’t suppose you’d agree on Jon the Brooder?”

Sansa turned to Jon whose face contorted into a thoughtful one, as if he’s considering his brother’s words. “Much too close to breeder, and I can’t have others thinking so. Besides, Jon the Solemn still has a better ring to it.”

Rhaenys and Egg answered that with a boisterous laugh and Sansa, convinced that the gods were playing with her, couldn’t stop herself from following their lead. Jon shared a smile with her, the one that looked shy and playful at the same time and made him look younger than his true age, that she didn’t mind acting improper then. That particular smile of Jon always had that odd calming effect, of making someone forget his offenses, the reason why Egg trailed another jest instead of apologizing for his transgression. And she supposed it’s how brothers of close age act—bruise each other’s ego and patch it all up with the help of the other. It was definitely different from Viserys and Rhaegar’s dealings where the former always had to do something challenging to prove himself to his older brother, who just about set high expectations for them all—Sansa couldn’t help but feel sorry now for Viserys and how she had missed his company albeit of late, his behavior towards her always felt like it’s bordering dismissal. She thought it has something to do with him reaching the age of ten and four, where he’s already considered a man grown while she’s still a child to his eyes. There were times the princess lamented being born late. If she’s close to Dany’s age, then her lord father might have granted her permission to leave court and travel with her siblings outside the capital. She might also have been given duties where she could take care of her lady mother and not be kept apart from her. And if she’s a maid grown then mayhaps… the dreams that haunt her so in the night, the ones that somehow left her feeling like cold steel was pressed on her skin, would lessen. Now that her thoughts shifted to Dany, she’d found that she’s sorely missing her as well—her warm embrace enveloping her after her nightmares where she’d come to her chambers and ask that she stay the rest of the night with her, how she’d brush her hair every night without fail after Mother’s disease began, how they’ve both traded letters with stories of their own-making to help her practice her handwriting—the heavy downpour’s what has kept Dany and Viserys both from coming back to the capital past the time they have indicated in their letters. And all of it made Dread boil in the pit of her stomach and before long Sansa could only hear bits and pieces of her nephews and niece’s chatter that when Jon grasped her hand, she jumped at the contact.

“What is it? You haven’t been paying attention…” Rhaenys asked softly, her coal eyes filled with curiosity.

Sansa made to answer but Jon cut her off. “Didn’t you tell me your lady mother asked me to stop by her chambers this afternoon?”

She bit her lower lip, she had forgotten about _that_ , and now she wanted to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood for having done so, for her wits escaping her—just the day before, she was so excited to tell Jon about it for it meant that her and her lady mother’s efforts (that has been almost a fortnight in the making) would now see the light of day. “Indeed! Sorry it slipped my mind.”

She stood up and curtsied to Egg and Rhaenys who were now exchanging looks of concern. “I’m sorry, but Jon and I have to be somewhere else.”

“Will you join us both at supper, at least?” Egg asked.

“We’ll have to spend it at Mother’s I’m afraid,” Sansa answered him as she glanced down her feet.

Jon tugged at their joined hands and she allowed herself to be swept away by him, not before Rhaenys asked her to send their warmest regards to her lady mother. When they got out of the Queen’s Ballroom, the prince arranged their hands so that it looked like she was clinging to him as how any noble lad would escort any noble lady—she’d found comfort in her nephew’s manners at least. When Jon first came to court, he had quite a rough manner in him—in the way he spoke and did his curtsies, and when she’d asked him about it, he shyly confessed that he’s never truly been around people of high birth ( _I only have Mother, Ser Arthur, Father and Maester Cressen for lessons_ ) that even though he knew his manners, he had a hard time applying them—Sansa’s seen to that, keeping true to her words to Rhaegar that she’d help her nephew with court rules. And in return, it helped her get to know the _exiled dragon prince_ (courtiers’ words spoken in a hush), to finally put a face and a breathing living person to someone she’s only heard stories about and always been referred to as Prince Jon. When she first met him, it was quite a disappointment. He didn’t look like anything she’d pictured him to be: silver hair and violet eyes, but she’d found that it’s a comfort, a relief that Jon favored his lady mother’s features, for they were the same in that aspect and just by that Sansa felt a pull towards Jon, nothing like she’s had with any kin, not with Egg, Rhaenys, even Dany and Viserys (and it may be proven confusing since Rhaenys favored her lady mother’s Dornish features as well yet she’s never taken to Rhaenys as she did Jon). She spied Jon’s eyes. _It was true indeed_ , Jon has Rhaegar’s eyes and maybe that pull has something to do with her brother’s intense and grave eyes. After Mother, she’d loved Rhaegar most of all—even more than her own lord father King Aerys II, for her brother was the one always paying attention to her and teaching her and never failing to take care of her notwithstanding his duties to the realm that Sansa thought sometimes that she’s stealing Rhaegar to be a father to his own children. Rhaenys has said so, and even though Egg who seemed to favor her more, and wouldn’t say anything unpleasant within her hearing, could see it reflected in his eyes whenever Rhaegar chose to teach her how to play the harp first or those times he had permitted for her to sleep with him in his chambers the first few moons that she was barred from visiting Mother’s sickbed. So she’d set to help her dear brother and his youngest son, the exiled dragon prince, return to court and be reunited with the rest of his kin; she would save someone like in the songs and when she told as much to Great Uncle Brynden, the knight stated: _of course_ , _oh of course!_ _Princes always come for the princesses not the other way around_ ,and something glinted in Great Uncle’s bright eyes as he narrated a plan, by which, had allowed Jon to step back into the capital.

As the prince led her to the gardens using the route with the archway stretching towards the pavilion, the one where Mother’s balcony was facing, he had scrubbed his neck thrice in a row. He had pursed his lips several times as they wander aimlessly, the rain trying its hardest to reach and lash at them. He had opened his mouth as well only to close them right after, and when Sansa saw his hand reaching for the back of his neck once more she blurted, a bit incensed, “Oh, out with it!”

Jon frowned a little as he looked at her. “Well… what’s wrong?”

Sansa looked up at the dark sky then. “I don’t know, really.”

“I’ve heard bit of your talk with Egg…” the prince pushed.

She bid her time. With Jon it’s easy to stop and think for herself, easy to spill out the truth just as it was easy to stay silent (Egg and Rhaenys could be unrelenting with their questioning and she’s thankful that Jon spirited her away from them then); he was always unassuming even if he wanted something from her, and this one shouldn’t concern him even for he wanted to hear about her burdens yet again.

“I kept saying to myself it’s because Dany and Viserys have been delayed… but somehow, there’s something deeper that’s causing me to fret. And that’s just it. I don’t know what it is, why it is so but it’s there…”

Sansa had expected for Jon to say something but he remained silent and instead pulled her to him, his thumbs circling about her hands, repeating that time when she’d confessed to him about her fear of dragons, how he had calmed her down by it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Still—”

“Oh Jon, it’s bad enough that I’m worrying, much more if the people around me start as well. It’ll pass… I hope so.”

Her nephew pursed his lips again and before Sansa could catch herself, her right hand shot up to brush his left cheek. The prince was clearly startled at the contact, his grey eyes widening. “There… wiped away some dour look about you.”

She disentangled from Jon’s hold and made to smooth her gown and when she looked back at him, the prince was smiling amusedly at her.

“Not you too,” he said, lips curled in a wry grin.

“I’d say it’s one of your charms,” she rebuked as she tucked her arms in front of her chest.

The prince gaped at that and Sansa almost broke into a giggle if not for the fact that if she did, Jon may have thought that she was making fun of him when she’s really telling the truth so she pressed her lips instead. _Jon wouldn’t just be Jon without his earnest somber face_ , she’d come to appreciate.

“Come, it’s not proper for Mother to wait for us any longer.”

When they got to the chambers there were several handmaidens about that made Jon pause for a beat. He may have noticed that Mother’s solar wasn’t that crowded from his previous visits and this may have alarmed him in a perplexing way but of course he would have no way of telling how much surprise he was in. Sansa shared a secretive smile with Great Uncle Brynden (who has been let in on the plan) when Mother made a light note on Jon’s garb, how his clothing could undermine his princely stature, and Jon asking with a muddled voice _it does, my lady?_ just as two of the handmaidens immediately locked their arms on each of Jon’s while the others pushed him forwards and whisked him inside Mother’s inner chambers. They heard several grunts from the prince just as the door was locked before them.

“Do you think that was done poorly…? I suppose it could have gone on much better,” Mother uttered, turning towards Sansa and Great Uncle Brynden with a concerned look on her eyes.

“It’s perfect,” Great Uncle answered her with a satisfied grin. “Poor prince didn’t know what hit him.”

“I don’t think Jon would hold a grudge against us. Not much at the very least,” was all Sansa could reply and Great Uncle laughed that warm smoky laugh of his and hauled her to his arms and walked to the door to Mother’s bedchambers and knocked on it.

“Is our prince ready to present his comely self before us?” Great Uncle Brynden boomed.

“Not yet!” two voices answered loudly. One decidedly was from handmaiden Shae, the other embarrassed and panicking voice, from Jon. Sansa may have felt pity for him then.

“Just asking!” the knight called back.

After a few of this exchange was made in a course of several long beats, Sansa heard the bolt of the door being turned and the door itself was being gently pushed aside that she tapped her fists on Great Uncle Bryden’s plated chest to snap his attention back at it. Great Uncle walked a few paces back as Jon emerged from the door with a face split into nervousness and bashfulness, one hand already at his nape scratching it while brooding. Sansa winced at the thought, dismaying at Egg’s words finding their way into her mind. Mother walked towards them from her chair opposite the door to join them in silently surveying Jon in the clothes the two of them had both worked hard for.

Eventually it was Jon who broke the silence with, “This… this is the true reason why Grand Maester Aemon examined me for health issues a fortnight ago, wasn’t it?”

“It was the only way we could get your measurements without you raising any questions,” Mother answered gently.

“And have you examined for your health! Really hitting two birds with one stone if you ask me,” the knight added.

Jon’s lips quirked a little upwards at Great Uncle’s statement.

“Do you like mine and Mother’s gift to you Jon?”

“Gift?” Jon looked at his new doublet and breeches in the color of both his houses, red and grey stitches on black, and seemingly seeing them for the first time. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“Oh you could, and you very well should take it my prince,” Mother inched closer to Jon and stood before him as she spoke, so stern and gentle that it left no room for any argument, “I’d have you know that the Princess Sansa and I, as well as a few handmaidens, labored over it and you wouldn’t leave our efforts to waste now, would you Prince Jon?”

Jon’s eyes bulged and his head shook sideways as he chanted, “No, no I wouldn’t, my lady.”

“Good. I hoped you liked the design on your doublet. It’s fashioned from one of Sansa’s gowns that I made for her, the one with the godswood pattern.”

“The godswood?” and this time Jon turned to her with a hazy look over his eyes.

“From the first time we met,” Sansa answered him. “I noticed how your eyes trailed after the pattern and recognizing it for what it is so I asked Mother if we could have it on your doublet as well. I did notice how most of your clothing don’t have any patterns on them and mayhaps it’s your personal choice…”

And Great Uncle Brynden may have sensed the uncertainty in her voice, the reason why he spoke after her, “But a godswood is a place of importance to Northeners and you’re half-Northerner. You keep to the old gods, the princess said. I think it’s a fine choice for a pattern. You also have a wolf stitched on the grounds of the godswood and a red dragon soaring above it, by our princess’ own design.”

“I have had Mother’s help!” Sansa protested.

“It was your own-making my dear. I helped you with the stitches, didn’t I?” Mother countered.

 _He may not like it; it may be silly on a boy’s clothing. Why did I ever think it was a good idea?_ Jon walked to her then; he was looking up at her for she was perched on her Great Uncle’s arms, his grey eyes weren’t clouded now but instead bright with elation. “The pattern’s perfect. It’s true that I loved it the first time I saw it on your gown. Nothing could have perfectly depicted my roots but your design. Thank you, princess.” The prince turned to Mother and to the handmaidens lurking at the door from the inner chamber and thanked them all. “I truly do love my new clothing; made by the hands of lovely maidens, I’m honored to wear such a fine piece.”

“Spoken well by a prince,” the knight nodded at Jon, his free hand ruffling Jon’s curls in fondness. And Jon’s smile only grew wider.

 

#

 

Sansa awoke from someone tapping her right cheek and from the little noises being made at the foot of her bed. When she opened her eyes, she saw hooded figures that she taught one of her nightmares had come alive, only to realize a beat later that the figures were Dany and Rhaenys dressed in their black cloaks, hovering over her; huge smiles were plastered on their faces, their white teeth illuminated by the oil lamp that Rhaenys was holding above Dany’s shoulders.

“What is it? And be careful with that lamp please,” she’d said as she rose from her bed.

Sansa felt Rhaenys rolled her eyes in the dim light, and she’s certainly heard her puff of annoyance. “Honestly, you just woke up and already you’re being snooty.”

“Hush,” Dany interjected. “Don’t we all get testy when we just woke up? And I won’t have you two arguing, most especially not today.”

Rhaenys seemed to perk up at that and she mumbled an apology quickly just as she turned her back on them, walking towards the door. “Come then! Have you fetched Sansa’s cloak?” she’d asked Dany in a rush.

It was then that Sansa cut in after splashing water on her face from the small wash basin, Dany pouring water for her from the ewer next to it. “I don’t understand… where are we going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” and Rhaenys smiled that infamous secretive smile of hers.

Dany’s lithe form moved to and fro in her bedchamber, familiar with the layout of her room she’d immediately found her cloak hanging on a series of hooks next to her vanity table. And just when she was about to put Sansa’s red cloak on her, she’d cursed and mumbled that the color’s too bright and easily noticeable.

“Don’t you have another?”

“The blue and black ones are in the wash… although I may have kept Mother’s old cloak in my trunk.”

“Not another red one… but if it’s in a deeper hue it might work. That’ll be the last option we’ll have. We can’t go back to mine and Rhaenys’ chambers, there’ll be guards patrolling the halls then,” her sister said.

“No… It’s grey, I think,” and Sansa pushed her feet towards one of her largest trunks and began rummaging for said cloak. Rhaenys began to stamp her foot in impatience as she begged Sansa to hurry. She had just pulled the grey cloak from the deepest part of the trunk when a voice from the solar broke in that made all three of them jumped from surprise.

“What’s keeping you lot? Break of dawn wouldn’t last that long!” It was Egg, popping his head inside her bedchamber.

“We’re just about to go out. And your voice’s too loud dimwit! Didn’t Jon tell you to practice your subtleness?” Rhaenys hissed back as she wrenched the door open for them to spill out.

Egg just grunted and snatched the oil lamp from her sister’s hand and proceeded to lead them outside. Dany meanwhile began to wrap Mother’s cloak on Sansa; the younger princess couldn’t help but whimper as it engulfed her whole frame _._ Her sister easily saw her plight and she could hear a laugh trying to wound its way out of her pretty thin lips but Dany always had better control of herself and so she only resorted to saying, “Of course it’d be big for you. I’ll just hold the ends of the cloak so you can walk. Now let’s hurry,” and she’d pushed Sansa out the door to follow Egg and Rhaenys.

There was a pattern as the four of them half-ran, half-walked the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, gone was the dim light that the oil lamp provided for them to better blend in with the walls and the dark—Egg would be the first to move, moving his head side to side until he deemed the way clear for them to pass through, then Rhaenys would occupy the previous spot where Egg had been moments ago as she stood on guard, always South of Dany and Sansa’s position, just in case someone walked in on them from the direction they’re coming from. All of it made Sansa’s heart tight with stirring, the thrill of what they’re doing just before the first light came, sent tingles on her toes and forearms. They’ve almost been caught by Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Jonothor Darry as they rounded the corner towards the passageway that would eventually lead to the exit of the holdfast, for the two knights were in deep conversation just beside the towering sculpture of their ancestor Maegor I when Egg stubbed his toe on a pool of cloth from one of the largest tapestries in the keep Sansa knew to be the one depicting Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya on their dragons, overlooking Westeros. That was when a loud cat shriek startled the two knights into moving and muffled Egg’s expletives. _That sounded like Princess Rhaenys’ cat_ , Ser Jonothor had said. _Balerion, is it? But shouldn’t it be inside the princess’ chambers? I heard a few noises at the end of the hallway as well_ , Ser Jaime added. _Best check it out, wouldn’t want to leave anything to chances—keep that in mind Jaime._ And to that the young knight chuckled as he answered, _I make my own chances, ser_. Then the two walked away from their spot and rounded the corner at the end of its connecting hallway. Breath of relief could easily be heard from the four of them as they all approached the huge oaken door next to Maegor I’s statue; the door to the gallery where Sansa came to learn was the place for them to meet Jon and Viserys... only, they didn’t use the door and didn’t enter the gallery as she’d expected. Rhaenys began to crouch on the floor and seemed to be pulling something, a lever of some sort, that was hidden beneath the floor where the figure of Maegor I stood. Just then, a stone slab opposite the huge door of the gallery glided slowly upwards, revealing a secret passageway as well as Jon and Viserys’ hooded figures awaiting them.

“Come, come!” Sansa’s brother urged.

They all immediately piled in. Once the stone slab fell down, enclosing them, a dialogue broke out.

“By the gods, I thought we were done for!” Egg piped as he freed his head and hair off the hood of his cloak.

“That’s because you weren’t being subtle!” Rhaenys admonished.

“Right! Because we all agreed to have Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor be at that place at the exact time—Not! Didn’t Uncle Vis here suggest Father to change the time of the knights’ rotations and the guards’ patrol for us to sneak successfully?”

At the mention of his name, Viserys turned to the two siblings, a sneer on his face at Egg’s incriminating tone. “I did. It’s why you lot managed to come that far from Sansa’s chambers without anyone noticing. It’s beyond my control if knights chose that place for an idle chat, however.”

“And we did ask you and Jon to stay at the squints so you’d know when we’re close,” Dany chimed.

“We did as you ask Dany,” Viserys rolled his eyes. “Else we wouldn’t be able to see Egg spectacularly fall flat on his face.”

“I did not!”

“You almost did if not for Rhaenys’ grasp on your cloak.”

“Speaking of which,” Rhaenys cut in, “I heard Balerion. Every one of us did… and he sounded like in pain.”

And to that Viserys laughed loudly just as Rhaenys glowered at him. “Oh, it’s not your Beloved Balerion. It’s my nephew over there,” and the prince pointed to Jon who turned his head away from them all, the oil lamp he was holding allowed them to see how his cheeks colored in embarrassment. “We were watching from the squints alright. And when Jon saw Egg start to lose his balance, he just uttered this very loud screech that threaten to bleed my ears dry, I’d thought it’s how he expresses his shock and concern, and then he made all kinds of noises to the wall as he walked along the right of this passageway and to just about the farthest end. That’s when I realized what the boy’s doing—he’d set Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor away from you lot.”

“That was very clever of you Jon,” Sansa said, and it being her first time speaking since they entered the secret passageway, all five of them turned their heads to her as if on cue.

“Dearest sister,” Dany remarked with a wistful smile. “Seeing you swamped in that grey cloak that’s clearly too big for you it’s hard to say you’ve turned a year older…”

Sansa gasped as the thought struck her. “It’s today… _oh_ , it’s today!”

All of them broke into wide smiles as they nodded at her.

“But let’s all go to the best part, please!” Egg exclaimed. Viserys then nodded at him as he gave out oil lamps for each of them to carry just as Rhaenys moved ahead to lead them away. Sansa heard Dany ask Jon, _so you can do cat impersonations. I wonder what other animal sounds you can mimic?_ and when the prince only groaned, both Dany and Egg broke into laughter. Soon, all six of them fell into a deep enjoyable conversation as they navigate their way, about each Houses in Westeros, great and small, the animals portrayed in each of their coat of arms and an imagined scenario where instead of the horn’s usual booming sound that would announce one House’s arrival, it’d be replaced with the sound of that House’s animal sigil. It then turned to a game among them where each took turns into mentioning a House and imitating the sound of said House’s animal sigil. Viserys was reluctant to join at first but he relented at the end due to Sansa, Dany and Rhaenys' combined and insistent prodding. They were still at the height of their excitement over their invented game when Rhaenys called out, _I see the door!_ and when she broke into a run, it was only a matter of time before all of them followed suit. Jon helped Egg carry the ends of Sansa’s cloak for her to be able to push her feet with more ease and by the time they got out, the first light has come. The secret passageway opened to a cliff overlooking the sea and the sight of it made Sansa’s eyes water in admiration. She’d spied a stairway made of stone protruded from their left; the princess knew then that the passageway was meant as an escape route for the royal family if the time ever came that they would be in need of it.

“Mother said it’s good luck if one woke up and saw the first light touch the edge of a body of water,” Rhaenys said with a beam. “Especially if it’s done on one’s nameday, so on my tenth nameday, she brought me here.”

“And ever since, we’ve done it as a tradition of sorts. Uncle Vis had done it when he turned ten-and-one, Dany when she’d turned ten as well, and the same goes for me. But we see no reason to delay it on you any longer,” Egg elaborated.

“This is…” overwhelmed and trying her hardest to swallow back a sniffle, Sansa could only finish with, “Wonderful—so sweet of you all…”

Dany then pounced on her and hugged her tightly and kissed both her cheeks as she greeted her a _happy nameday_. Rhaenys and Viserys did as well while the remaining princes took to placing kisses on her hands, the former three mocking their display of gallantry all the while. Egg just answered with a lopsided smile that if there’s anything Sansa loved best after lemon cakes, it’d be chivalry to which they had laughed about—Sansa included, harmless teasing was beyond her when she’s feeling elated—as if she’s a goblet being filled with such sensation.

And the goblet that she was felt full to the brim as the day wore on and her nameday feast began. Mother had personally seen to her bath and with the help of the handmaidens dressed her in a striking gown (in which Mother had presented to her as her nameday gift, one that she’d discussed with the royal family’s dressmaker, designed and stitched on her own, which made it all the more lovely in her eyes). It was a black satin dress, with a full skirt and full bell sleeves and a silver belt studded with little ruby stones. It also has silver trimmings embroidered with fire patterns in red threads on the hemline. Her Lord Father had even commented about its beauty when he came to fetch her in Mother’s solar to personally escort her to the Great Hall. _Not even in the brink of maidenhood but my little princess’ blooming fast. And what an exquisite dress! It fits you perfectly,_ King Aerys said. _My lady mother’s nameday gift for me, Your Grace_ , Sansa told him. _Is it? Lady Catelyn’s sewing is a peerless talent in the realm it seems, but I think something’s amiss… and my nameday gift to you will solve that problem I’m sure_ , and the King had gestured for a servant to come forward and Sansa’s breath was stolen from her when she’d looked at a coronet placed on a small pillow— _her_ small crown was made to fashion after the ninth king on the throne, Baelor I Targaryen, a band made of gemstones designed to look like flowers and vines. _Oh, Your Grace! This is too much!_ and to that her Lord Father answered with, _Nonsense. I gave coronets to your brothers and sister when they reached the age of eight, each fashioned after the very crowns of the rulers of this land, to replace the usual metal band of black and red for young princes and princesses of this house. I’d have you wear it today Sansa, your siblings will surely don their own in the feast._ Sansa could only bow her head in curtsy as she agreed, _As it please you, Your Grace_.

The gifts kept on pouring after. As invited courtiers and the royal family with their close friends and kin enjoyed the dishes served in the feast—eight special ones in Sansa’s honor: baked salmons, stuffed capons with potatoes and chestnuts, suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, cooked boars with sweet and spicy sauce, beef soup with wine, carrots and spices, almond milk pie, toasted bread in wine sauce, and the cream of the crop, a lemon cake eight feet tall adorned with dragon figures made of sugar—one by one, people came to present their gifts to her. Queen Rhaella had started the demonstration, with both Viserys and Dany at each of her sides. She’d asked Ser Willem Darry, their master-of-arms, and his brother Robin Darry, their master-of-horse, to come forward; with them was a small young red steed gracefully trotting its way along the aisle towards the raised dais where most of the nobles were about. Sansa’s hands shot to her lips in an instant as it covered an exclamation threatening to burst out. _A horse for me!_ she’d thought. The Queen then smiled, spying her reaction, and spoke: _it is indeed for you our dear princess. Viserys and Dany both told me that you’ve always asked to learn how to ride a horse. And I’d say it’s high time you properly learn horse-riding, what better way to start than to have your own, riding it in practice? So when the Princess Elia went to Dorne for Prince’s Doran’s nameday feast I’d asked her to bring back their famous ‘sand steed’. Is it to your liking?_ The princess nodded eagerly while looking at the young steed’s long neck and narrow beautiful head, _very much so Your Grace. Thank you for this wonderful gift_. Queen Rhaella asked Sansa some more, _what will you name her then?_ The princess did not miss a beat as she answered _I’d name her Dame_ , and everyone tittered at hearing her so, much more when Great Uncle Brynden shouted from his seat, _A fine name if I ever heard one!_

The next one to present a gift was the Crown Princess Elia, her children Egg and Rhaenys standing beside her as well, their hands tied to their back. Rhaegar’s fair wife presented a chest full of hair ornaments, much like what Rhaenys has on her vanity table—it consisted of one jeweled hairnet, a beaded circlet that looked to drape across her brow and a chained pearl headband. _They’re lovely, Your Grace and I thank you for it_ , Sansa murmured as she clasped the crown princess’ hands in hers. _No more lovely than to see your pretty face being delighted by them_ , Princess Elia returned in kind as she swooped down to kiss Sansa’s cheeks. It was then that Rhaenys and Egg stepped forwards and revealed what they seemed to be hiding from her: two potted plants. And this time, Sansa couldn’t stop the sound of happiness from escaping her lips, _please tell me it’s what I think it is!_ Both siblings laughed and Rhaenys pushed the one potted plant she’s holding to Sansa’s hands as she responded, _it is what you think it is_. The princess hugged the plant to herself then, murmuring _my own lemon tree!_ Princess Elia interjected that it would be apt to call it a lemon yard since they’ve brought dozens of lemon saplings to be planted on the plains of Rosby so that they could grow their own lemons, albeit a small one compared to Dorne, in the Crownlands. Afterward, Sansa went back to the dais for her and Mother to look at the gifts she’d received. There was a new picture book about Riverrun from Great Uncle Brynden (made by one of her favorite artists that Sansa knew her Great Uncle had commissioned into making), a book of songs from Grand Maester Aemon (that he’d promised she’d never read before), an attractive gown of silver with blue Myrish lace, with a red belt studded with sapphires Uncle Edmure had sent from Riverrun together with a gorgeous doll set (of knights and maidens) from her Lord Grandfather Hoster, and just when Sansa made note that she hasn’t yet received Rhaegar’s gift nor Jon’s a murmur of excitement echoed along the Great Hall. Musicians and their instruments were brought in, and trailing after them were Rhaegar and Jon, holding their own harps and conversing with the entertainers as if they were part of the band. When the minstrels had settled themselves in a curved line just before the attendees of the feast and the raised dais where most nobility were about, Rhaegar and Jon moved a few steps forward from the group and started to address the court.

“My lords and ladies, I’m standing here before you all, just as my youngest son Jon does, in order to pay homage to the fair celebrant of this day. We’re here to present her a song, only a humble gift compared to others (and to that a lot snickered and chortled), in the hopes that she’d give us her favor, from this day onwards.”

Father and son both curtsied and the room fell silent at once as they held the harp to the right of their shoulder and began to play, the musicians at their back following suit, and Rhaegar’s harmonious voice instantly filled the hall as he sang:

_Off to Crownlands to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_I’ll ask a sweet kiss in exchange for cakes, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_I’ll make her my love and swear she’s obeyed, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_Off to Crownlands to guard the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_No horrors shall come to her at the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_Just her laugh or a smile and the debt’s overpaid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

_Oh, just her laugh, her smile, and I knew I’m unmade._

The spectators took to ecstatic clapping and praising, and when Rhaegar and Jon walked towards Sansa and knelt in front of her, she’d squeaked and stood immediately at Mother’s directions. “You may rise, good sers,” she’d said, heart impossibly full of rapture, “And with such a lovely performance, a favor from me from this day onwards shall be bestowed on you both.”

The rest of the court stood and clapped harder as they showed deep admiration of the two royals’ display. Later, when the dancing arose and Sansa had danced to every man and woman possible who was present in the banquet, Egg would push her to Jon’s arms. They would dance for quite a while as the princess questioned him about the song, to which he’d readily admit it was an alternate version of an old song, that he helped Rhaegar in composing the lyrics just as they’d done weeks ago, that he’d hoped Sansa will treasure it forever, and the princess may have noticed how Jon appeared to be quite tipsy judging by his hooded eyes, the number of times he’d stepped on her toes (that he doesn’t even try not to step on them anymore) and babbling mouth, but she’d found it funny and didn’t mind the soreness in her toes the least bit. She’s happy and everyone she held dear in heart should be happy as well so she’d continued talking with him, and much much later she would describe to Jon how unbearably happy she’s feeling, _like in the songs and stories, only this is much much much better because it’s real_.

 

#

 

 

_Time past (Bonus Track 1)_

 

 

“Lysa!” she shouted as she ran after her sister, passing the practice yard and the stables while servants and knights around looked on, words of cheer and concern slipping from their mouths as they headed outside the keep. Granted it was unladylike to do so, but her sister has Ned’s recently arrived letters and she needed to get to her fast before she completely break off the seal and read its contents before her.

She eventually caught up with Lysa who was panting hard and slumping on a heart tree, face red and hair disheveled. Catelyn Tully knew she mirrored her sister’s current state but it was the last thing on her mind as her eyes swept Lysa’s form to find her hands where she’s grasping Ned’s letters; she immediately snatched them back seeing the fight leaving Lysa’s body and went on to say, “What did the gods do to your wits to have done this?”

“Relax, sister,” Lysa responded placating her, “I was at the sept when Maester Vyman chanced upon me and ordered for me to deliver these letters to you. He couldn’t seem to find you—and I, well—”

“You got curious.”

“Yes.”

“And when I caught you in the act, you resorted to running away.”

“Yes, that too! But anyone would’ve run from you when you’re glowering like that,” and Lysa pouted as she plopped down on the grass. “Will you read the letters now?”

Catelyn could only sigh as she sat next to her sister and began to read the one that seemed to be the shorter of the two letters and whose seal has already been dropped along the way by Lysa’s tight clasp.

 

_To Cat of House Tully,_

_After reading that four-page letter Ned wrote (don’t ask how, the seal’s not broken is it?) I feel it only a waste of good ink. But a lady of your intellect, I’m sure you’ve already deduced what Ned’s really talking about. And so congratulations are in order._

_You’re part of the select few who can make Ned so miserable and happy (I’ve half a mind he’d soar the sky by falling from the Moon Door) at the same time and for that, you’ll always have my respect._

_I love Ned as a true brother and soon you’ll be the sister I’ve always hoped for._

_Signed,_

_Robert of House Baratheon_

 

For a few beats, Catelyn’s mind seemed to spin until Lysa noticed something from her and shook her out of it.

“Cat? Cat, what’s wrong?”

Catelyn ignored her sister’s questions as she set Robert’s letter aside and began to read Ned’s letter in haste. He’d asked about her and the happenings in her lands after his last letter, and that he has a news to share: Jon Arryn officially adopted him as part of his House after gaining permission from Lord Rickard and had declared him his heir, he also expressed his wishes to come to the tourney at Harrenhal and Ned had thanked her for bringing the news to him for he and his siblings had arranged to meet at the said event. It has been a long time since he last saw them, most especially Lyanna and Benjen and he sorely missed their company, he wanted to personally share them the news of his adoption and mayhaps something about a feast if the gods were willing. He said he’ll come in a few moons to have a talk with Lord Hoster, said he’ll come for her.

“Cat! Is there something wrong?” Lysa nagged.

“There isn’t,” Catelyn replied as a huge smile threatened to break her face. _By the gods, nothing’s wrong and nothing will ever be wrong from this._ “With the Vale as his offer, Ned’s going to ask Father for my hand.”

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. As per usual, if you have comments or violent reactions please feel free to write them below  
> 2\. The cyvasse game is a pain to write ; _ ; (I tried to incorporate chess rules but I suck at it so I tried to based it to this one war board game I played as a young'un, Game of Generals) the difference from George's cyvasse and mine is that I didn't add a screen dividing the board because that's hella confusing, and the number of pieces wasn't limited to 10  
> 3\. So... a few hints were made in this chapter -a few glaring ones, and one that you'll only notice after I post a few chapters in- (I hope it perked you up nonetheless)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full truths.  
> Half-truths.  
> And the Great Equalizer.

"Oh, and they come unstuck

Lady, running down to the riptide

Taken away to the dark side."

 

 

_Time past (Bonus Track 2)_

 

 

 _Funny how fate works to be at The Inn of the Kneeling Man_ , Brandon fumed just as another Stark surrendered to a _fucking Targaryen_. Oh he was mad, furious, outraged and the ale he was chugging and the heat it’s giving his bloodstream only fanned the flames of his wrath. _Fire and blood eh? How about I let them know how cold burns just as well?_ With that he’d let the wooden empty tankard fall on the table and chose to ignore the innkeeper and his wife’s appalled looks whilst he watched the tankard roll to the side only to be stopped from falling completely to the floor when a hand reached to it and put it back steady on the table. He glanced warily at the towering stranger at his side and instantly recognized Ned’s best friend from Storm’s End.

“Last time I checked, ‘Ours is the Fury’ is still our House’s words, not yours,” said the man in a low voice, a smirk pulling his lips.

Brandon Stark, in spite of himself, managed to huff with a chuckle, his amusement intermingling with his resentment. Robert Baratheon has that peculiar charm to mollify an incensed man.

“No, but given the circumstances, I’d likely pay silver stags to use yours for quite some time,” he retorted in an equally soft voice. It wouldn’t do to be overheard by some even though the inn was only littered by a few men this early in the day— _most who lodged at the inn haven’t broken their fast yet due to the merriment last night that lasted until dawn_ , so said the innkeeper’s wife as he arrived at the inn and asked for a meal.

“Quite a bargain, but why not gold dragons? My House didn’t belong to the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms for nothing.”

“No, but you can’t ask a buyer in whatever manner he’ll pay, so long as he pays what’s due of him. And I can’t use _dragons_. Not now, not ever.” He made to spat on the floor but his eye spied a crossbow-wielding boy, his weapon strapped at his back, that the innkeeper had told him a few hours ago to be his adopted son and thought better of his actions.

“Fair enough,” Robert said with a shrug. “How long have you been drinking?”

“On your terms, not long enough.”

Ned’s best friend laughed his booming laugh, “So you say and I like to join you but we’re expected somewhere else and it’s best to be sober for what awaits us,” at this Robert’s face immediately turned serious.

Brandon answered that with a firm nod and called the boy who was still eyeing them suspiciously to ask for cold water on a wash basin and a towel. He had let his rage run its course long enough. The lad returned with a wooden pail instead brimming with water from the Red Fork shore and hurriedly he had washed his face and dumped the remaining contents of the pail on his head to cool his self and clear away seething thoughts. Robert had already left his side saying he’ll ready the horses for their departure (and Brandon had to voice his query of how he would know where his horse was tied to, in which the man answered _it’s_ _only the horse that’s dreadfully tired by being ridden nonstop all the way from the North_. He winced at that, if Ashara’s with him, he knew how she’d turn to him with those disappointed violet eyes of hers; he promised her that he’d stay out of trouble and that he’d take any rest he could along the road but as soon as he was riding, it was easy to trade his sleep just to cover more ground. From the sense of urgency in Ned’s letter: _I need you brother as I’ve never needed you before, there’s no one else I could trust this with than you. Please come to the Inn of the Kneeling Man, as soon as you’ve read this letter. Make sure to dress in disguise, brother, and burn this letter after_ , he knew that what his brother was asking was a matter of great importance. He’d let Ashara read Ned’s letter as his own explanation to why he’s leaving in the dead of night and it was his wife who had assured him that she’ll think of something to say when their household noticed their lord’s absence (even packing him provisions to eat along the road and skins of both wine and water for his thirst) and so Brandon went to the innkeeper’s counter to leave a handful of coins, meaning to overpay his meal and drink in exchange for their silence—not that it’d amount to much but he made sure to dress as a hedge knight while Robert was garbed as a knight from House Piper, its coat of arms at the back of his armor: azure with a naked maiden dancing and enwrapped with silk argent (no doubt what he’d thought fun as his disguise) and if the couple tried to tell anything, they’d only recount two knights who met at their inn and decided to travel their way back to Pinkmaiden, the knight from House Piper having convinced the hedge knight to pledge his sword to Lord Clement Piper.

Brandon met Robert at the stables, raising his brow to his escort as he saw Merry saddled and ready for him. “Ned told you about Merry and his star marking above his eyes, hadn’t he?”

“No. It was Lyanna who did.”

Brandon couldn’t help but look away as Robert mentioned his sister’s name. He wasn’t quite sure how to tread around the subject: of his sister breaking his betrothal to him after the tourney at Harrenhal, only four moons later to announce her marriage to the imbecile Crown Prince who had already placed a babe to her, if the whole affair’s an open wound for the heir of Storm’s End just as it was still to him and so he busied himself from drying his armor and climbing unto his horse. Granted he had thought Robert Baratheon wasn’t a fine choice for Lya himself (what with his reputation for drinking and whoring and fathering bastards for what seemed across the seven realms?) but he lived and stood by his own choices and deeds and the two even struck a friendship at least, even though Lya still had her doubts if Robert will ever be faithful to her; the _dragonspawn_ however chose to answer his blunder at the tourney, crowning his sister instead of his wife as Queen of Love and Beauty, when the blue winter rose laurel only served to mark her as a scandal, by making off with her the night after with not so much as a word or a letter, leaving them with speculations and accusations that banners were raised and an attack to their monarch was being planned until Lya sent word to them two moons after her supposed abduction: that she went with the Crown Prince of her own accord, and that she and the Crown Prince already wedded and she could not travel back home with her delicate state as she’s with child—‘twas another reason for Brandon to hate the dragonspawn, for stealing Lya away from them all, he could still see and hear his sister’s sorrow and regret as if she’s spoken it personally to him and not written on a separate letter to him that she sent from the Tower of Joy (and what a contradiction that was?). _I had thought it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, Brandon. I knew now what a fool I was. I didn’t know what I truly wanted. I asserted some things without even stopping to think and didn’t Father always say it’s the wolf-blood? And what a child I was for being prideful about it. I’d give anything to have it drained from my veins; a little less may help me now. I know I don’t want you, Father and Ned to go to war because of me, especially because of my own selfishness. I’m with child already and I have to decide what’s best for him… or her. Gods, I can’t dream of bringing a child to a war-torn realm. Brandon, I’m sorry. Please tell Father that I truly am; tell Ned and Benjen how sorry I truly am. I didn’t know and now I have to force myself to learn. Let me be the one to handle this, let me make my amends. I disgraced the Stark name so please let the blame fall on me alone. Lay down your arms and let me right my own wrongs._

Father then sent Ned to check Lya’s state at the Red Mountains of Dorne, if the letter was somehow a farce to rein in their army already preparing to march down south. Brandon would have come with Ned but he had a problem of his own to deal with: House Dayne has expressed to cut Ashara’s betrothal to him as they were known Targaryen loyalists with only a week to go before their wedding day, and it was reported that Ashara has gone missing only for them to discover that she rode by herself from Dorne to Riverrun against her family’s wishes and asked for Brandon to take her as his wife then. And how could he not? _A lovely, bold lady who braved the roads to seek his hand?_ Such was how he’d teased his divine wife but she knew all the same that she’d stolen his heart long before then. He accompanied Ashara back to Starfall as a gesture of good intentions and begged her parents for them to be married whilst Robert and a hundred knights accompanied his brother to the Tower of Joy instead, and there confirmed Lya’s story. The fight leaving him, Robert retreated back to Storm’s End and had advised Ned to order the remaining Baratheon force still encamped at Riverrun at that time to withdraw and go home (it was the last that Brandon saw of the Baratheon heir). King Aerys had no choice but to pardon them all as his son admitted his own trespass and asked that if the Houses that his father deemed conspired against the crown be punished, then he must be punished as well. _The good it did to the realm when Lya’s locked in Dragonstone after_.

“Careful now Brandon, any more of that sulking and you’ll best Ned as the grimmest man I’ve ever known.”

Again, a laugh forced its way out of Brandon’s throat despite his sour mood. He only shook his head and spurned his palfrey following Robert’s lead.

After a considerable amount of time on the road, Brandon chose to break Silence and asked, “May I hear the dire news now in full?”

Robert breathed out and said, “First, what do you know?”

“I know that Ned’s betrothal to Cat’s supposed to be announced five moons ago alongside Edmure’s tenth nameday. I know that the king paid a visit to Riverrun three moons ago and asked for Cat’s hand, and just a few days ago Lord Hoster yielded to the dragonspawn and now Cat’s to wed the king in a few moons.”

“The latter the only blessing Ned and Cat can afford to have.”

“So Ned intends to spirit Cat away before she marries the king?”

It was Robert’s turn to look at him with a raised brow; something close to judgment was on his wild blue eyes. Of course, Ned would never repeat the imbecile Crown Prince’s actions but then… “There’s something else?”

“Cat…” Robert breathed out again looking annoyed at something. “Cat’s with child. Ned’s child.”

Those words felt like a hard blow to Brandon and all he could think to say was, “H—How could they…?”

“You can’t… you can’t fault them for it,” and Robert’s eyes turned sharp as he looked at him. “For all they know they’d be man and wife now, if not for what happened after the tourney.”

Sure, Ned’s been courting Lord Hoster for Cat’s hand for years. He remembered the time Ned had first met Cat at Riverrun all those years ago. His brother’s being sent to the Vale as Jon Arryn’s ward and Brandon accompanied him to his journey with a few stewards of their own, not wanting for Ned to feel that he’s being abandoned by his kin with him being fostered so far in the south. They stopped at Riverrun to rest, Lord Hoster welcoming them in his keep. He had shared a word to them that the Storm End’s heir has also been resting at his keep, intending to travel to the Vale for he’s about to become Lord Arryn’s ward. Both Brandon and Ned wondered at that twist of fate and so they had sought the Baratheon boy in order to introduce Ned to the lad and become better acquainted with one another early on. They were rounding the corner of the practice yard in search of him when they heard a rush and a lovely laugh from their side only to break into a cry when it crashed to _someone_. Next thing Brandon saw, Ned was falling, toppled by slender limbs, heavy skirts and flowing thick auburn hair. Then a man rushed to their side laughing hysterically as he pulled the girl from Ned.

 _Oh gods, Cat, you are such a lout!_ and then he proceeded to pull Ned to his feet as well saying, _You okay boy? No torn skin? No broken bones?_ From the look on his wild blue eyes, it seemed that he was enjoying the scene far too much, all at the expense of the girl at their side.

Said girl blushed as she smoothed her skirts, her lips pulled tight in indignation. _Stop it Robert! Do I look like a wheel wagon, or a horse, enough to bruise him?_

And when she looked at all three of them, round blue eyes, cheeks pink from equal embarrassment and crossness, and red hair in every which way, of course she didn’t look anything of the sort, what she did look like was a very pretty girl… or to be accurate, a very pretty irate girl.

 _Of course not! You are the very picture of a_ lady _, Catelyn Tully._

Again, the girl blushed and with that she looked to Ned and then to Brandon in shame. And so to ease the tension Brandon opted to speak, only that Ned had beaten him to it—his quiet brother!

 _N—No harm done… my lady_ , he said, brow creased and blushing as well while looking at the ground.

The girl, Catelyn Tully, looked at Ned in relief and at once she began fussing about him, standing at him in such closeness that she’d be able to examine his state and in such closeness that Brandon knew wasn’t comfortable for his brother. Brandon’s sure Ned hasn’t had this much contact with a girl before, he only had Mother, Lya and Old Nan to count for interactions with the opposite sex. Plus, his brother’s a shy person in the first place, rendering for the circle of people he intermingle with to be that much smaller. _Forgive me, it truly wasn’t very ladylike… but we heard trumpets when the gates were opened and that can only mean visitors and so we rushed to meet them. Turns out you’re halfway to meet us?_ and Catelyn Tully beamed, and what a charming smile that was as Brandon spied Ned’s lips curling upwards in response, enough to be said a smile for Solemn Ned. He then took the lead in introducing themselves to Lord Hoster’s daughter and the man she was with. That was when they came to know that the sniggering man was Robert Baratheon himself, what he thought was Catelyn’s cousin at first due to their shared blue eyes. When he said as much later at supper, the two laughed at his musing but Robert wanted to be mistaken as Catelyn’s older brother instead. The girl responded with, _Only because you wanted our castle, and the fishes it holds_ , and then Catelyn looked at him and Ned and added, _If you lot know what I mean._ Brandon did and judging from Ned’s little frown he didn’t and so he whispered to his brother, _It means the Baratheon’s boy not interested for Catelyn Tully’s hand per se, although she couldn’t say much for the other Riverrun ladies. And that also means you’re one less suitor to worry over._ When Ned choked on his onion-ale soup, Brandon was only slightly guilty for his teasing because then Ned couldn’t keep his eyes off Catelyn for the rest of the evening.

And the two came a long way after that first meeting. Two moons later, Lya rode her horse to Barrowton where Brandon was being fostered; bringing news that Ned’s asking her how to write a letter to a lady. His sister’s practically bouncing as she delivered her news, a look of _isn’t it romantic?_ evident in her grey eyes. Of course, as is customary of Ned, he didn’t say who he intends to write to but Brandon knew all the same. He imagined that Robert and Catelyn kept in touch with letters as the two were quite close during the lad’s stay at Riverrun and the Storm End’s heir may have teased Ned about it in the Vale. It was no secret from Robert that during their five-day stay in Riverrun that Ned fancied Lord Hoster’s beautiful daughter (with all his blushing and floundering around the girl, everyone may as well have known) and Ned trying to write a letter to the Tully girl may have sprouted from Robert’s prodding. Brandon may have felt the need to weep for Ned’s good sense in at least asking his sister’s opinion on how to write to a girl instead of turning to Robert for he knew that would only turn as a teasing material for him, and the same goes to Brandon as well. Then again, it may be due to _that_ that his brother resorted to asking Lya as his first ideal choice. It was innocent correspondence besides. As far as he knew, they were forging a friendship from those messages. Ned shared to Lya what he and Cat had been talking in their letters, and as an extension, Lya would share it to him. But of course, Brandon suspected that even Ned had to keep some things from them. It was their secret of sorts, what he and Cat has in those letters, in all those years of correspondence. Sometimes he’d hear that Ned together with Robert and Lord Arryn went down to Riverrun for Lord Hoster’s nameday feast, sometimes it’s for Cat’s, other times for the other Tully children’s and those were great chances for the two to meet and be at each other’s companies, strengthening their bond even more—it’s just that Brandon never knew the depth of Ned’s love for the girl, his seriousness in winning the Tully girl’s hand until Father spoke to him of his own indecisiveness with Barbrey, if he really intends to marry her with all his dilly-dallying. _Unlike your brother, whose proposal for Catelyn Tully’s hand got rebuked by Lord Hoster time and time again. And I can’t fault the man, especially since she is his first daughter, and he’d only want what’s best for her. Such is a fate of a second-born son, to defer to the titles and lands a first-born son would inherit no matter if our lands triple the size of the south. Did you know that Lord Hoster proposed a match for you and Catelyn instead? I told that truth to Ned and did you know what he responded? ‘Father, you know that I love you and respect you above all else and I thank you for all that I am, and all that I have, but all the same, will you let me go as your second-born son? I intend for Lord Jon Arryn to fully adopt me as his son, and become heir of the Vale. This is the only path left for me to gain Lord Hoster’s favor and blessing.’ I admire his single-mindedness then, his bravery, to strip himself of his roots to attain his heart’s desire. In truth, I never once expected that of him—my quiet and ever compliant boy. But it only proved that he’s much a Stark as you and me. And so I gave him my approval, a gift to see my son finally settled with a woman he so cherished. Tell me now Brandon, what are you doing with your life?_

“I don’t fault them for it, you know that,” he said at last to Robert. “Gods, I bedded so many women before without taking them to a heart tree! You and I did. But with Ned and Cat, it’s born out of love not lust, I know that much. Fuck, they’re supposed to marry right after the tourney…”

“Don’t start now,” Robert warned.

It was Brandon’s turn to sigh deeply. “Why would Ned stop fighting for Cat’s hand now? Especially since Cat’s carrying his child!”

“Threats were made. You know how the royalty and nobles work around it, they’d wrap it in flowery words but still they stink. The King told Lord Hoster that if he refused his proposal, he’d want for him to send Edmure and Lysa to King’s Landing to become his wards instead.”

“He’d take them as hostages, that dragonspawn, and leave Lord Hoster without an heir.”

Robert nodded. “Ned and Cat wouldn’t risk a war just so they could unite themselves in marriage. It was good enough that he didn’t notice that Cat’s already with child that time he visited Riverrun, else he’d take it a personal slight no matter if he hadn’t told the truth of his intensions then. You know how that old fucker likes to twist events just to serve his own purpose. As I’ve said, the delay in Cat’s marriage to him is a blessing at least. We’d be able to hide Cat’s state until she delivered the child…”

“And then what? Wait for Cat to be handed off to the dragonspawn?”

“I hate the very thought of it, but yes. Understand that we’ve thought of every other option that wouldn’t leave House Tully spurning House Targaryen but there’s really no sound one as that. All the others always end up in war, and do you know who’ll suffer first in that, Brandon?”

And it hit Brandon easily, _Lya, and her babe, Jon. Jon Stark, the gods were considerate for my nephew to be allowed to carry our surname at least_.

Robert was right, the two were so far away from their kin and much closer to their monarch’s reach, all the more vulnerable and helpless _if_ things came to battle.

“Fucking Targaryen. He’d thought this through. Fuck him!”

“If I’m holding a drink, I’ll toast to that.”

“You would,” and Brandon tried to focus on the road, feeling wretched and destitute, and all the more remorseful for Ned and Cat.

They arrived at another inn a day later (Robert made it a point that they’d stop and rest on the road else Ashara will have his hide if he let her husband ride off with no sleep in three days and on to his death) where two houses were built right next to it. His escort explained that this was where Ned and Cat have been staying for the last four moons but to the public’s ears and eyes, Cat has been traveling along the Tumblestone River in order to say her farewells to the riverlands; in truth, it was her sister Lysa in disguise who traveled whilst Cat’s in hiding in Pinkmaiden.

Brandon saw his brother and Cat first (her beautiful long hair dyed a disconcerting brown), strolling near the stream hand in hand. Ned’s other free hand’s resting on Cat’s round stomach and they were talking with small smiles on their lips. This far, they looked like any loving couple enjoying the sun without, free of any burdens that their stations in life expected of them. For one beat, Brandon even saw Father and Mother’s shadow in Ned and Cat’s form, that he pictured himself just a small boy in Winterfell watching his parents by the balcony, talking of what they would name their third-born child—the imagery was so potent it made his breath hitch in his throat and something had stung his eyes, and yet he couldn’t look away.

“Good day, ser, my lady!” Robert called out to them. “We’re knights in service of Lord Piper, on the way to Pinkmaiden, and would like to enjoy some bit of refreshment from your bar, if you please?”

The two finally turned to them and instantly he saw how things had affected his brother. There were more lines on his face, and if possible he looked more solemn than ever. Still, he appeared to brighten when he saw him and Robert despite their entire disguise.

“I’m afraid we’re not the owner of the inn you’re referring to, ser. The couple who do, left just this morning to buy stock at the market,” Cat said to them. She and Ned were now approaching them in front of the inn’s stables. “We expect them to be back tomorrow morning, but you both are welcome to share some mead in our house. My husband and I brew them.”

“A fine mead I would expect,” Robert said, a wide grin already in placed on his face.

“Well, a knight well-versed in drinks would know.” Ned clamped Robert’s shoulder in greeting and affectionate teasing. Soon they were inside Ned and Cat’s designated house, the one overlooking the stream. It was roomy than what he’d first thought when he had regarded it outside, a few necessary furniture littered the first floor. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Cat hugged Robert and him in greeting. Ned’s embrace was more firm than what Brandon could recall in years, and his first words to him were: _thank you and—_ to which he had cut off with: _do not, for even one beat, apologise to me. You did nothing wrong, brother_.

“Very glad to see you Cat. You’re positively glowing!” he said to the woman before her. And rightly so, Brandon has always known Cat to be a lovely lady, but seeing her with child now—round, dyed-brown hair appearing to be thick and silky to the touch, and skin flushing—only seemed to bring out a refined womanly charm about her.                                                                                           

Cat smiled as she said, “It comes with being with child, so said Old Jetta,” and then she ushered them further inside, a separate room where the kitchen and dining area can be found. “You two must be weary from travel, good thing I cooked some sweet and sour fish and pottage.”

“The only dishes she knows, really.” Robert teased as he took a seat to the round table. Brandon followed suit while Ned helped Cat into her chair, his brother then took the task of laying down their utensils and dishes on the table.

“Cat had the time learning how to cook here,” Ned quipped. “Old Jetta, the innkeeper’s wife, helps her with it, and I with the housework.”

“Oh please,” Cat sounded annoyed and she sent a frown in Ned’s way, “You make it sound as if I don’t know half the chores for a house’s upkeep. I’d have you lot know that I’m well-versed in such things just—”

“Just as the lady of your stature.” All three of them finished for her.

Cat looked stunned but then she broke into laughter, and the three of them joined her. “I suppose I say that many times.”

“Many many times,” Robert added.

And because it seemed a good time as any, Brandon asked, “How far along are you, Cat?”

The woman met his inquisitive gaze and answered, “Any day now, if not a week. Old Jetta and a septa from the town they’ll fetch will help me deliver my child. It’s the real reason why they were away.”

“I see,” Brandon had to swallow some lump in his throat before continuing, “And soon as the child’s ready for departure, we’ll go. I do hope they’d brought a wet nurse with them.”

Cat looked stricken and she instantly turned to Ned so Brandon grasped for her hand. “I figured as much. When Robert told me you’re with child I asked myself _why now_ —of all the times Ned could have told me, why only now? I could go on not knowing about this as a matter of security: the less people know the less chance for the secret to be out of the bag. But you both chose to tell me. You and Ned,” he glanced to his brother who was holding Cat’s other hand and continued, “Intended for me to have your child.”

“We trust you to keep our child safe,” Ned murmured.

“And I will. You both don’t have to worry,” and Brandon reached for his brother’s hand. “The child will live as a Stark though, as my own. He will be safe, loved and cared for. And once the child’s of the right age, then I’ll tell him the truth of his parentage.”

“It’s… it’s more than I could ever hope for,” Cat mumbled as tears began to pour out of her clear blue eyes. “I don’t ever want to part from my child… but Ned and I would never risk his life—”

Ned proceeded to calm his lover by wrapping his left hand around her shoulder and inching down her body to rest at his side, when his brother opened his mouth facing him, Brandon knew that he’ll shower him with his own gratitude so he elected to cut him off again with a shake of his head.

“There’s no need for that, brother. The child will have your blood, Tully and Stark both and I’ll do my duty to him.You both made the choice knowing full well the costs, the sacrifices you have to live through… (At this, Brandon could see in his mind’s eye Cat’s forlorn face in the Crownlands, slowly merging with Lya’s features, sad and alone in Dragonstone, and then slowly turning to Ned’s miserable face in the Eyrie, gaining almost everything and losing all at once). We all will do our duty which often isn’t what’s easiest but necessary nonetheless,” and Brandon knew the truth of his words looking at Ned and Cat, defeated by fate but still keeping up a fight, just as how his words eventually calmed the rage in his heart and mind. Never enough though, but he would have to make do.

 

 

#

 

 

_Time present (Side A)_

 

 

As the prince eyed the treacherous stone ladder of the final waycastle, Sky, that will lead him to the Eyrie, Jon reminisced Sansa’s voice and words as she read him a book about the Vale of Arryn’s history: _‘Ser Artys Arryn flew to the top of Giant’s Lance on the back of a giant falcon to slay the Griffin King…’ no, that can’t be right. I distinctly remember Grand Maester Aemon telling me that’s the legend of the Winged Knight. Still, that would be a grand adventure to make, wouldn’t it Jon?_ Her excitement has infected him then when at first he had considered being fostered in the Vale under his Uncle Ned’s care catastrophic when Mother broke the news to him in a letter she sent a moon after Sansa’s eight nameday. It meant he had to leave Mother alone in Dragonstone, meant that he’d live until gods know when in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. He knew that boys were sent to places in order to grow as better men and yet it still broke his heart to learn that it was Mother’s suggestions and constant pleading to Father that he be fostered in the Vale, prompting him to ask what he’d done for Mother to send him so far away. If not for Sansa’s crossed words of _did you think that sending you to the Vale meant she no longer cares for you? That she no longer loves you? If so, then I think you’re being a pompous fool_ , would he come to his senses (especially so for the shock he felt that the ever proper princess would resort to an _insult_ no less just to get her message across). Mother has always preached to him that men should make most of what life has been offered to them and if Mother thought she’s giving him the best chance in life by sending him to the Vale rather than keep her by her side in Dragonstone, then by all means would he live a life that would make her proud she has a son like him.

Harsh winds blew past Jon as he started his ascent, quite nervous of the cracked and broken steps as a result in the freezing elevation, he then held tightly to the handholds carved into the rock walls just as the first signs of weakness from his legs started to show. _Would that I could… trade my title of Prince of Dragonstone in favor of a giant falcon to carry me to the Giant’s Lance’s peak_.

Ser Brynden, who was accompanying him to his journey to the Vale (the only knight his lord grandfather’s willing to spare; the King may want it to look like he didn’t care enough for his well-being with news that the High Road’s no longer safe as the mountain clans grew bolder and wreak havoc along the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon sending Jon with just the one guard, and Jon wouldn’t even put it past his lord grandfather if he wish he’d perished in the east, but Ser Brynden’s convinced Father that a large party would only resort to a much visible target to the mountain men and Ser Brynden’s worth a hundred knights and more as Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell swore to him and Jon’s not about to doubt that), may have noticed his trembling legs for he mentioned again the winch basket to him.

“I don’t think I could bear it if I use the winch basket while you travel afoot, ser.”

“You mean your Targaryen pride. Or is it the Stark’s honor? Come now, I wouldn’t think it little of you if you did. We’ve been travelling the Sky all day.”

“Just so, and I’ve had enough rest at the Gates of the Moon.”

Apparently that was a wrong thing to say as the knight let out an incredulous laugh. So Jon stopped and turned back to better see his companion.

Ser Brynden was looking at him with a raised brow and a crooked grin. “You, my prince? If you could only see the circles under your eyes… why I think you hardly had a wink of sleep!”

“I slept all right,” Jon opposed and he shifted his stance to the knight’s scrutiny. “The Royces have been nothing but generous and accommodating to us.” And he didn’t want to impose more when he denied Lord Nestor’s offer of a hundred knights to escort them to the Eyrie when the dangers of shadowcats and brigands were long past them, although he’s wise enough not to say it in front of the lord for fear that he’d take offense in it.

That earned him another disbelieving laugh from the knight that it’s starting to prick his nerves.

“I’d say they’ve been generous and accommodating to us all too well… all too much. Ah! Especially that young maid, Lord Nestor’s daughter… you know that charming short girl, with lovely brown eyes and curly brown hair…” he trailed off and his brow contorted into one of hard in thought.

“The Lady Randa…” and then Jon recognized his blunder, “I meant, the Lady Myranda Royce.”

There was a flash in Ser Bryden’s blue eyes and he was now looking at him with a glee akin to a predator that had cornered his prey. Jon’s skin started to crawl.

“The Lady Randa… so you say. Forgive me, my prince, but did you have a good time watching the moon reflected on the castle’s moat last night?”

There was no doubt now that Ser Brynden had overheard Lady Myranda’s whispers to him yesterday during the feast prepared in his honor. The raucous merriment of the Royce’s household, the minstrels and singers and the dancing, did nothing to the knight’s sharp sharp ears. And a pity since the young lady even took careful measures to say her words only to him, over refilling his cup with sweet wine, and bringing him cherry pudding.

“I didn’t accept her offer to walk the castle’s ramparts, if that’s what you’re prying. Sansa taught me that I should watch my actions around ladies highborn or not, lest I make them misunderstand that my attention to them makes me want to court them.” And Jon pressed his lips abruptly, he hadn’t meant to say _that_ ; he felt his cheeks burn then.

“The princess did…?” and the knight’s features contorted into confusion, the teasing quite gone from him.

That appeared to be that, and so Jon turned back to the stone steps when Ser Brynden called for his attention once more.

“But that doesn’t explain why you have circles underneath your eyes, Jon.”

He had told Ser Brynden enough truth that telling him about Lady Myranda’s attempts to coax him out of his chambers in the dead of night (rapping at his door and calling him out with that tinkling voice of hers that tore him as he did want to send her away but not in a way that’s sure to offend her—so he kept mum until the lady finally left him in peace) did not seem favorable to Lady Myranda and he wouldn’t sully her honor when she’s only being friendly so Jon just shook his head to him and moved forward, wrapping Sansa’s knitted scarf for him even more securely around his head and neck. A feat when he’s also wearing his thickest cloak without. _I know you have a cloak to guard you against the wind, and this is a lady scarf to boot but I’d like to think it’ll help you warm even more when you’re up in the Eyrie. Besides, this is something to help you remember me by_ , she’d said to him with that infectious smile of hers.

And remember he did. Pulling the scarf up to his cheeks, he could still catch the scent of Sansa’s skin and hair, a blend of rose petals and lavender, clinging the cloth bundled around his head that he couldn’t help but think back to that time she’d damned propriety and fiercely hugged him in front of everyone as she said her farewells to him after spending five moons in King’s Landing. The thought warmed him enough and in an instant, a rush of his memories from the capital moons ago swept him as another round of harsh winds blew past, of warm days and warm nights spent with his siblings Egg and Rhaenys, with his aunts Sansa and Dany, and even occasionally with his uncle Viserys. There were days of hawking, horse riding, and fishing, and picnics in the Rosby plains overseeing Sansa’s little lemon yard, days where he and Egg train with steel swords supervised by Ser Brynden, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan, and there were days that their lessons tend to dwell about the Vale of Arryn, a thoughtful idea from Egg who thought it best for him to be knowledgeable of the place already so that he’d have proper footing with the lords and ladies of said place. At one time, Dany and Uncle Viserys even surprised him as the miniature Harrenhal placed in the Queen’s Ballroom was transformed to resemble the Eyrie: seven miniature white towers bunched tightly together and was even elevated by a raised platform made to look the part that it’s situated above a valley floor. Rhaenys suggested after that they could use it as a backdrop to their plays, where they’d re-enact old stories of the Vale, so for a week they studied about the War of Conquest when Visenya subdued the Vale. Rhaenys was given the role of Sharra Arryn, Queen Regent of the Vale, while the boy-king Ronnel Arryn was given to Egg. Dany was charged to be Visenya and to everyone’s surprise Uncle Viserys willingly took the role of the dragon Vhagar. Jon and Sansa were tasked to provide musical accompaniment to their play and when the Princess Elia chanced upon one of their practices, she’d readily volunteer to provide costumes and props for them to use. The Lady Catelyn would visit their practices as well, giving advice on which scenes they could scrap and what dialogues to put more emphasis on. Soon the matter became the highlight of the court’s gossip that after presenting it to the King and Queen, they decided to present it to the nobles and to everyone present at court. The success of their play had been clear when talk of it lasted for a fortnight, everyone asking if they’re willing to make another one, or if at least they’d consider making it as an annual event. And through it, Jon had known that it was Sansa, Egg, Rhaenys, Dany and even Uncle Viserys’ way of making him amenable to being fostered in the Eyrie. By the time he left the capital to spend a moon in Dragonstone before traveling to the Vale, he was more than ready to accept the shift in his life and become Uncle Ned’s ward.

When Jon looked up to measure how far along they needed to climb to reach the Eyrie’s gates he had caught figures coming down the steps.

“I think they’re coming to meet us!” he said to Ser Brynden.

“Aye… I can even spy your uncle among them.”

“You can? But what does he look—” and the words simply died on Jon’s lips when the men who came to meet them emerged in full view. His uncle wasn’t hard to miss, not because he’s the one in the middle and leading his party but because when Jon chanced upon the man, it seemed like he was staring at an old version of himself: long face, dark hair, and grey eyes.

 _Sad grey eyes. Cold eyes._ Something tugged at Jon’s heart while looking at his uncle and he shivered (the first time he did, not while ascending the three waycastles and not even when the temperature has long dropped from being several thousand feet above). The prince had wondered what happened in his uncle’s life for him to give off such a numbing cold impression.

 

#

 

“Today,” began Ser Vardis, voice quite easygoing for being captain of the guard of House Arryn, notwithstanding his visage being heavy built with a strong square face that straightaway tells one that the man is without humor, and rightly so, “We are to discuss how best to be of service to this House. As you both may very well know, our men have been fighting the mountain clans since the Andal invasion. Those men and women have rejected the authority of the Eyrie and by extension the overlord, our King,” at this he nodded to Jon, as if doing so meant he’s paying proper respect to their monarch though Jon knew all too well that his lord grandfather wanted little from him, if not, nothing at all, “And they interrupt trade by looting merchants traveling the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, even going as far as the High Road and attacking lesser houses and raiding local villages. Time and time again, the Vale lords have sent their knights to contain and apprehend the brigands and even though they have victories in every single time they march, it ultimately led the Vale lords to a humiliating defeat… and why is that Harrold?”

Said boy who was sitting at Jon’s opposite side of the workbench and was looking out the window, left hand propped under his chin, slowly turned to Ser Vardis and answered nonchalantly, “As you say, ser, _time and time again_ , which concludes that the heart of the problem with the mountain clans has never been fully resolved, else our forebears would’ve subdued them all long ago.”

“And I ask again, why is that?”

“The clansmen themselves are divided. Even if we don’t resort to weapons, any efforts to treat with them will be impossible as there will always be a clan that will not agree to a few terms to settle a dispute,” all this the boy had said without even batting an eye, his left hand still propped under his chin. The casual manner reminded Jon of his brother Egg, of how he’d spew a thousand responses to questions thrown his way during lessons, every bit the educated young-lord-in-waiting that he was.

Ser Vardis nodded his small nod again, appearing to be satisfied with the answer, but then he inclined his head to the side and said, “Ah, Lord Arryn always says it’s _improbable_ to treat with them, but not impossible. The way things have been moving, however, reports that keep on piling about raids only force our liege’s hands to treat the problem directly no matter how he’d want to wipe away the problem completely and at the root of it, the latter taking time until gods know when, and you both must know that the Vale lords’ patience are quick to run thin.”

 _He must have had this lesson a hundred times now_ , Jon thought as he spied the boy before him letting out a small yawn as Ser Vardis droned on about each Vale lords’ own grievances against the mountain clans. The prince met Harrold Hardyng at the Eyrie’s gates, a tall, clean-limbed boy with sandy blond hair and pale blue eyes. He did not seem pleased to meet him then, the very first one, Jon had noted curiously as he supposed being the Crown Prince’s son meant men likely wanted to gain his favor for their own causes, judging as well by the feasts thrown in his honor while traveling the Vale proper and the all too flowery words and attention directed to him. Harrold Hardyng only cracked a thin smile for him when they were introduced to each other and kept to himself when Uncle Ned ordered him to show Jon his way to his chambers.

He knew he wasn’t conjuring an imaginary strain from Harrold when he spied a disappointed look ripple across Uncle Ned’s face then. The boy kept his responses short when he asked questions about the Eyrie, his pale blue eyes glancing his way hardheartedly and he tend to leave him on his own if he did not express his wishes to be accompanied. Jon had found he’d rather have an honest contempt displayed against him besides rather than suffer the Vale men’s scorn whilst his back was turned on them—and Jon knew, could feel it deep in his skin and bones, that some of them still resent what had transpired after the tourney at Harrenhal even though they bent their knee to his lord grandfather.

If not for Mya Stone’s words days later, Jon may long continue being ignorant of the source of Harrold’s ire against him. The prince was asking the base-born girl how she trains mules as mode of transport for a treacherous rocky climb to the Eyrie in the hopes of recounting them to Sansa in his letter, for he knew she’d find the subject interesting especially if the other transport left is a winch basket to be hauled up as if one’s pulling a water basket from the well, when Jon mentioned Harrold to her, if he’s made trips using the winch basket when he was younger.

 _Like that’d be something The Heir would do_ , Mya said and then she blanched as she caught herself.

_The what—?_

For a beat, Mya looked as if she’d rather they drop the subject, but then she raised her deep blue eyes to him squarely and asked, _You mean you haven’t heard the others refer to him by that title, Your Grace?_

 _I’ve only been here for less than a week_ , he reminded her.

 _Right…_ Mya shrugged. _But people are bound to slip-up anytime soon, like I did._ And then she sighed, _If you promise to say that you didn’t hear it from me, then I’ll tell you._

_I promise, on my honor as a Stark and Targaryen._

The girl cocked her head to the side and smiled in defeat. Jon thought her quite pretty if she smiled more openly. _Well then, what’s a bastard against one with two great Houses and surnames at his back? Not that you’ve offended me, Your Grace_ , she added hastily when Jon made a noise at the back of his throat at her remark, _Truly! I’m proud of my last name, if you must know. Now where were we? Ah! I was going to say…_ she looked around the stables and the armory first before continuing in a soft voice so Jon had to incline his head closer, straining to hear her words: _You must know by now that Lord Arryn has not taken a wife, nor will he ever. And to solve the problem of having an heir, he adopted the former lord of the Eyrie, that is, Jon Arryn’s last living kin, Harry, and made him his heir presumptive, hence the moniker Harry the Heir._

_So, Harry and I… we’re actually cousins?_

_In a sense, sure you’re cousins. And because you share the lord’s blood, Harry’s wary of you._

_You think he sees me as his rival? That I mean to take on his role someday?_ Jon blurted, sounding incredulous.

Mya eyed him carefully. _I know so. It’s how he acted whenever Robb’s around. But he came around as he eventually realized how much of a fool he was acting, Robb’s Lord Brandon’s son and heir. It’s just that… Harry loves attention, more so from Lord Arryn as he considers him as his own true father. Seeing how close the lord is to Robb, well, you can imagine how that affected him. He’s quick to be jealous besides. But as I’ve said, he came around to it and managed to become friends with Robb. I’m sure it’ll be the same for you._

_Sounds like you know a great deal about him then._

The girl shot him an annoyed look, still the way her cheeks flushed was not lost on the prince. _I know enough_ , said the girl. _We grew up in the same household after all. I’ll tell you Harry can be a great pain in the ar—whatever, but he’s a good friend to have, Your Grace._

It was then that Jon decided to take an action. If he’s going to spend a long time with Harrold Hardyng, then he may as well put an ease to his concern against him and make his _cousin_ understand that he’d take nothing that’s rightfully his. Besides, Ser Arthur has counseled him that _trust is earned and not to be expected from someone, nor given freely_ and he’d wanted his cousin to trust him. So after their sword training with Ser Vardis in the practice yard, the prince followed Harrold into the Crescent Chamber. Jon had managed to walk ahead of him and to the trestle table where the refreshments were awaiting them. He handed one silver tankard to him and when Harrold accepted it with a nod, he chose that time as good as any to spill out his mind. Harrold kept his face still while Jon talked and when the prince was finished that’s the only time the boy downed his drink. He kept his gaze to his mostly empty tankard for quite a while before training his pale blue eyes back to Jon’s direction. He finally replied with, _let me sleep on it_ , and then left him in the hall. The prince may have felt a pang of frustration then but Harrold at least heard his mind. The next morning, Jon woke up to someone rapping at his door and was surprised to see Harrold, already dressed for the day and asking him if he’d like to break his fast with him. And later, Jon would have to attribute his ungainly response to Harrold’s invitation to his clouded mind thick with sleep; else why he’d hastily accepted and even went out of his chambers with only his wool tunic on, Harrold being the one to point it out and laughing at his expense, dimples impressed on his chin and saying, _I don’t think we’d appreciate seeing someone walking only in his tunic first thing in the morning, even if you’re a prince_.

After getting over that initial discomfort with Harrold—no, _Harry_ —the boy now insisted being called, he and Jon were quick to become friends as Mya deemed they’d be. Harry reminded Jon of Egg so much: quick with his wits and quick to laugh, older than him by two namedays, and soon Jon started looking up to him and seeking his guidance, that he found it natural to treat him as his older brother rather than a distant cousin. Harry did not seem put-out by such regard, and in a way he treated him like his own little brother as well. He’d teach him lessons about the Vale and its lords, asked him about Dragonstone and his mother, asked him about his time in King’s Landing, and shortly they were trading stories of their life and aspirations, mostly exchanging swordsmanship techniques for the young boys they were (although Harry always made it a point to grumble that Jon had trained with the best of the best knights around, in which Jon would respond by teaching him the lessons Ser Arthur and Ser Brynden taught him), and it rendered for Jon to glimpse his cousin’s persona other than _Harry the Heir_. He’d found that he and Harry do not differ much, _We’re eager to prove ourselves to the world_ , _that there’s more to us than our last names and which House we’re from_.

Something hit Jon square on his forehead and it instantly broke his ruminations. He glanced down the crumpled paper that bounced to his side and towards the source of the attack.

“What?” he’d said to Harry.

“You’re brooding… or daydreaming, which of the two I’ll never know because you always have this grim look on you.”

If someone told Jon that Egg and Harry were long lost brothers, he’d be the first to believe it. Harry’s statement sounded like something Egg would undoubtedly say. “I’m just thinking…”

“Way too hard at that, you didn’t even notice Ser Vardis exit the room, or Maester Colemon delivering news that visitors have arrived.” Harry then made to stand and Jon followed the motion, suddenly alert at what he’d heard about.

Jon recalled there were no ravens sent informing them ahead of any official visits to the Eyrie in the last four moons, and the prince’s mind started to race as it could only mean: “An unannounced visit—? But if they passed the Bloody Gate and Gates of the Moon without event then they’re—”

“Our kith and kin. _Your_ kith and kin to be exact,” Harry finished for him. The lad then opened the door of the study room, pale blue eyes challenging him as he said, “Race you?”

They made a dash for the gates, all the while shouting at each other as they ran the halls of the Griffin Tower and down to the courtyard.

“What’s Uncle Brandon like?” Jon yelled over his shoulder towards Harry, who was running by his side, trying to keep up with his pace.

“For one thing, he talks an awful lot compared to Lord Eddard.”

“And?”

“Well, he looks every bit a Northern man to me.”

“What about his son? My cousin Robb?”

“The boy took after his father, personality-wise. He’s easy to get along with, you’ll see.”

“Easier than getting along with you, I hope.” And Jon let slip a snicker as he bumped his shoulder to Harry’s, equally diverting him and using the momentum to run faster.

“You cheat!” the boy shouted after him, half-provoked and half-amused.

By the time they arrived at the gates, stewards were all scrambling in the yard. Some were leading the mules to the stables; others were carrying small trunks and luggage to the reception hall. Jon easily noticed the men from the Stark household, with their hard faces and seemingly tough façade, all dressed in wools of grey and black, and the prince knew that the thrashing of his heart wasn’t only caused from running hard. _I’m about to meet another of my blood but will they see me as one of them? Will they curse the Targaryen blood in me?_ Jon was no fool. Even though Uncle Ned has been genuine in his care for him, he knew that he could not expect the same treatment from his Uncle Brandon. And he wouldn’t begrudge him if it came to that—Jon learned from Uncle Ned’s tales that Mother and Uncle Brandon had been the closest of the Stark siblings, that even if his Uncle Brandon was fostered to Barrowton, Mother would ride her horse to said place (no matter if she’s riding alone) whenever she misses her brother’s company. _And now Mother’s barred from even setting one foot out of Dragonstone without prior permission from the King, and it’s not as if he’d even agree were she to ask to travel anywhere directed to the North._

“Your Grace?” that was decidedly Mya’s voice, interrupting his chain of thought.

“His Grace’s wits are currently escaping him, I’m afraid,” and Harry wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulder as he spun him towards the reception hall. “We missed them; Mya’s been telling you that Lord Eddard’s expecting us at the Crescent Chamber to greet our guests.”

“Right,” and Jon swallowed a lump in his throat he hadn’t known was there.

“Robb’s been asking about you!” Mya said as she joined them. “And don’t,” tone rising in a sharp note, “Even say what you’re about to say Harry.”

“What?” Harry’s eyes widen in open mockery. “I wasn’t about to say anything. 

“Say anything about what?” Jon said, realizing a bit too late how he walked into that bait as the unthinking fool that he was presently. The girl gifted him a thwarted look.

“That Mya fancies the young lord—which I wouldn’t even divulge in the first place had not the prince asked of it, and my life is only but to serve His Grace.” And then Harry, all long limbs, made to curtsy but Mya was quick to place her elbow at his side which stopped him from completely finishing a grand bow. She then stalked off, hurrying to the Crescent Chamber.

“Is it wise to vex her so? You know it only always leave you with bruised skin.”

Harry laughed and shrugged his shoulders whilst nursing his side. “I’m honored to know your concern of my well-being Your Grace… only that, Mya’s much more charming when angered.”

Jon could only shake his head at that as he concentrated his mind on more pressing matters. Namely, how he’d act properly around Uncle Brandon and his cousin Robb. It seemed that his concern was unwarranted the moment they were introduced to each other. Uncle Brandon held him in a fierce embrace, while commenting how he looked so much like _Lya_ and how tall he was for being a boy of one and ten. When he pushed him in arm’s length to get a better look on him, Jon even spied his uncle’s grey eyes bright with unshed tears. That unraveled something warm in his chest and when he smiled to his uncle, it wasn’t forced.

What unsettled him however was his cousin Robb, in not so much as how he’d feared he’d treat him coldly because he didn’t (the boy held out his hand to him, genial and warmly calling him, _cousin_ ) but more so on how he had looked so familiar—thick auburn hair and bright blue eyes, which ultimately reminded him of someone dear to him. The shock may have left him speechless longer than propriety dictated, especially since he has yet to respond to Robb’s greeting or clutch his hand in the customary shaking of hands.

His prolonged silence only prompted for Robb to ask, brow creased in a manner so similar to Sansa when she’s confused that something tugged at Jon’s chest, “Is something stuck on my face?”

“No—no, only that…” whatever he has scrambled to say was lost when a horrified shriek from Benjicot pierced their ears.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry milord!” the steward said as he fussed over Uncle Brandon and his overtunic now ruined with spilled wine.

His uncle waved Benjicot off, not unkindly and said “There’s no cause for concern. I’ve been dying to change out of my riding clothes besides.”

“Which is why you should’ve stopped over at the Gates of the Moon,” Uncle Ned chided him.

“And suffer Lord Nestor’s fussing?” and then Uncle Brandon winked at Jon whilst Harry snorted at his side, “Although Robb here would love to stay and be entertained by the Royce girl.”

“Father!” instantly his cousin’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. “Randa and I are only good friends. In fact, what we both were talking in length about is Harry here!”

Harry’s smile and the dimples on his chin disappeared at once as all eyes trained on him. “What now?”

“She asked me to best you in a sword fight and give you her piece of mind in the process. That if only Lord Nestor will permit her to come up here, she’d take my sword and strike you with it—Randa’s words.”

“She can’t be possibly crossed with me, still!”

Robb smirked and added, “She is, and ignoring her letters will only drive her more so.”

Harry groaned forlornly, “She told you about the letters?”

“That and others,” the Stark boy’s smile even grew wider.

Uncle Brandon, who was visibly entertained from the exchange, abruptly ended it with, “Come now, Robb, let’s have ourselves a warm bath and we’ll continue this talk of Harry’s exploits, so to speak, later at supper.”

Jon pressed his lips tight at that, careful not to let out any sound of amusement to slip, but boy was he dying to—it seemed that Harry’s mischief with the ladies precede him, something the boy would surely gloat over were the ones discussing it not those close to him, especially not within Uncle Ned’s hearing. Harry opted to look mortified as he stare down the marble floor of the hall while Uncle Ned’s eyes seemed to glaze over while looking at Harry, as if he’s seeing someone other than the sandy-haired boy in front of him. The moment passed and then he was sighing resignedly, a wisp of a smile on his lips as he told his heir to escort their guests to their designated chambers.

Being his ward for eight moons, Jon came to learn that Uncle Ned’s dark grey eyes reflect his moods. They’d turn soft in a pleasant memory or hard as stone when discussing something forbidding, or something of utmost importance. Right now, Uncle Ned’s grey eyes had turned indulgent talking with Robb about the riverlands during the feast in honor of the Starks’ arrival to the Eyrie. It was so easy to see then what Harry saw in the two’s interactions, what made him feel envious and insecure in his position no matter if Robb’s a son of another man—Uncle Ned was never the indulgent sort, he did not raise Harry and Mya with an iron hand either but there was firmness in it all the same: on how he both talked with them, how he instruct and impart lessons, and even in how he showed affection, these also extended to Jon when he became his ward but with Robb, it was as if the icy part in Uncle Ned’s façade was slowly thawing. He smiled openly, albeit a small one at that, but it’s a smile that reached his grey eyes nonetheless. He also seemed to talk at great length with his nephew, prodding him about everything that has happened since his last visit in the Eyrie. It was decidedly _curious_ , how Uncle Ned seemed to be a sailor’s wife hungry and thirsty for news about her husband at sea, the way he seemed to take in all what Robb has been narrating to him. The comparison was making Jon’s head hurt but it fit somehow and he would like to examine his head at how that could be. One thing was clear though, his uncle loved Robb as if he’s his own son, the way Harry surely, quietly, yearned from his foster father. And Jon’s not about to doubt that Uncle Ned does not willingly supply it, yet it’s not quite the same compared with what he’s freely giving Robb, and though he may not have any proof of it aside from his observations, his guts tell him so.

“You were about to say something to me then?” Robb opened as he joined his side of the long table. “From when we were introduced to each other,” he explained as Jon only responded with a raised brow.

“A silly thing to think of,” Jon admitted as he shook his head.

“Which is what?” Robb insisted.

“I just thought… that you look like Sansa, the Princess Sansa, I meant.”

Robb nodded slowly, appearing to consider it. “Tell me what you see as you look at me now.”

Jon eyed him for too long before voicing out, “Is this a trick?”

“No, I would hear the truth from you Your Grace.” His cousin surely knew how to use his title in mockery as everyone seemed to be well-versed at.

“Well… I look more a Stark than you.”

Robb grinned at that. “And I imagine you deduced I don’t look the same as my lady mother, didn’t you?”

It was Jon’s turn to nod. Ser Arthur had described him what a great beauty his sister was and even though Robb looked a handsome young lord, he didn’t have Lady Ashara’s violet eyes or dark hair.

“Well… you’ll know about it eventually so why not hear it from me instead of gossips from the stewards? I’m the most reliable source after all, if not Father or Uncle Ned or Harry.” His cousin took the empty seat beside him and leaned in close. “You said the Princess Sansa and I look the same, right? That’s because the princess and I…” Robb’s blue eyes swept by Uncle Ned and Uncle Brandon’s direction as he continued, his tone dropping as if he’s about to reveal one of the biggest and darkest secrets of the Seven Kingdoms before turning to Jon and solely fixing his gaze on him, “Share the same… aspect of having a riverlander for a mother.”

“Oh,” was all Jon could say, realizing a beat later that his heart was pounding. He may have expected one of the biggest and darkest secrets of the Seven Kingdoms but what Robb revealed wasn’t unheard of—men fathering children out of their marriage bed was common even to highborn, which he should have expected in the first place, and not some grand scheme. It’s just that… Robb had made it _sound_ so. Mayhaps the boy was just gifted in putting a fine spin to his tales? Though that was something he’ll have to know, so without prompting Jon asked his cousin if he knew who his birth mother was.

“Father,” and Robb had to pause as he placed his left hand under his chin while his other hand reached for his cup of sweet wine, only continuing when his fingers rounded two circles in the process of idly tracing the mouth of his tankard, “He’s more comfortable on dropping hints rather than tell me the truth… _all_ the truth of her. Says I’m not ready yet, but I’ll be turning one-and-ten soon. So I did some digging, piecing things that he had told me from the time I’ve been sired and I found it wasn’t so hard to know Mother’s real identity then. I didn’t leave Father much choice so he eventually had to spill.”

“I see…” Jon trailed. “D—did you try to contact her then?”

“No… too many hurdles for that to happen.”

“Oh,” belatedly Jon realized how unfeeling that sounded but he just didn’t know what to say after that. He suspected Robb wasn’t just telling him all these just to garner his sympathy. _But what then?_

Robb finally raised his blue eyes to him and smiled wanly. “This is not a good conversation to have in a feast, isn’t it?”

When Jon opened his mouth to argue that it was perfectly fine Robb cut him off with, “Now it’s your time to share some things. I heard you spent quite some time in the capital? What’s it like?”

For the rest of the evening Jon shared to his cousin his life in Dragonstone and his time in King’s Landing, all the while noticing Uncle Ned’s eyes drift to their direction once and again. He had wondered if it was just the way the shadows from torches placed high on iron sconces that shrouded his uncle’s face, the reason why he looked as if conflicted as he stared at them.

 

#

 

Jon was at the gardens having a heated discussion with Harry about his plans of joining the Brotherhood of Winged Knights when Maester Colemon called to him from one of the windows in the Maiden Tower, informing him that ravens have arrived from King’s Landing, and that he’s coming down to deliver it to him so he best keep still if he wanted to receive his letters.

“You know His Grace wouldn’t even move one spot even if his life depended on it just so he could get those damn letters Maester!” Harry shouted back.

Jon only nodded in return; he couldn’t trust himself to speak when Dread’s been twisting his guts when he’d first heard that there was a letter from King’s Landing, even if he couldn’t be too sure if it even came from the person he so desperately wished he’d hear from.

Harry, knowing him for three years, has read his anxiety and whatever dispute they were having was suddenly forgotten in favor of comforting him. “I know you’ve been expecting the princess’ letter for nearly two moons now. But you have to remember that the princess’ alive and well, safe in the Red Keep and such things that happened to her take time to heal…”

“I know… it’s just, I worry still…” Jon trailed off as he clenched his right hand whilst recalling the horrifying events that transpired two moons ago. _The Defiance of Duskendale_ , it was now called. Jon and Harry were in Uncle Ned’s solar, dining with him and discussing tactics to lure the mountain men from hiding when Maester Colemon broke the news to them about the defiance: the Darklyns had refused to pay more taxes to the crown after the King denied them a new town charter for Duskendale, his lord grandfather had chosen to go to Duskendale then to deal with the problem himself. He only had one Kingsguard knight, Ser Gwayne Gaunt, and a small force of men escorting him, intending for the matter to be a dialogue rather than a trial; he even brought Sansa and Ser Brynden to his party when they met at Rosby en route to Duskendale, the latter two were visiting and picking lemons from the princess’ lemon yard. Only that, they never came back to the capital as Lord Denys imprisoned them in the Dun Fort. Lord Tywin, the Hand of the King, and Father were quick to gather a host outside Lord Denys’ stone castle but had been ultimately paralyzed when Lord Denys sent word that should they storm the town, they’d kill the king and the princess. The Defiance ended when Ser Barristan managed to sneak into the Dun Fort in disguise, scaled the walls of the castle, freed Ser Brynden, and together rescued his lord grandfather and Sansa. King Aerys ordered for everyone to be to put to sword: House Darklyn, and even House Hollard who had sided with the former House during the defiance.

Jon had catalogued then the way Uncle Ned’s face paled and his grey eyes widen in fear when news of the King and the Princess and Ser Brynden’s captivity broke, for he knew he uncannily mirrored it. The Defiance ensued in a week, and it had been the longest seven days Jon had to agonizingly endure. Thoughts of Sansa’s well-being kept him awake and restless; _she’s only a girl of one-and-ten! Gods, she doesn’t deserve this kind of horror, not her, never her_. He’d written to Mother, Ser Arthur, and nearly everyone he knew in King’s Landing begging for news and the ravens couldn’t fly hard and fast enough it would seem. In that stretch of time, Uncle Ned had been a great pillar of support. He’d stay awake by his side at the balcony of the Maiden Tower, overlooking the Vale of Arryn and the Giant’s Lance, both of them on the lookout for any ravens approaching the Eyrie. He and Uncle Ned had made it their own personal vigil, and Harry and Mya would join them at times. Usually they’d keep watch until after the night has gone deep but then Harry or Mya would persuade them to retire for the day. Most times, Jon would get his way and stay there until the first light came. Uncle Ned had accompanied him during the course of it all, a silent presence but a welcoming one; sometimes he’d lay a firm grip on his shoulder as the prince recounted to him stories about Sansa and Ser Brynden—what he felt he needed to do lest he succumb to his frustrations and fears. Jon wasn’t sure why but seeing Uncle Ned’s icy grey eyes, he just knew that the man understood his pain of not being able to do something for ones that they so cherished.

 _It’s cruel_ , he’d said once to Uncle Ned, _the gods make cruel jests. They_ must _know how Sansa loved stories where knights rescue trapped maidens in some old castle… to make her learn how unlike it was to how things truly were—it’d break her heart._ When Jon had first learned that no weirwood tree grow in the Eyrie’s gardens, it had dampened his spirits. Right then, however, it seemed that he couldn’t and wouldn’t even turn to the gods to pray for Sansa and Uncle Brynden’s safety, even his lord grandfather, when the gods were harsh enough to place them in such scenario.

 _What are your House’s words, Jon?_ His uncle asked him after a stretch of silence.

 _Winter is coming_ , Jon answered in a beat. He’s a Stark, no matter if a Targaryen has sired him. It’s what Mother taught him long before he truly understood that he was a prince of a great great House. It’s his belief even now.

 _Then you should know it’s as much a warning to everyone. Summer’s already at its end. Winter will come for us all albeit_ when _could differ for each person. Winter has come early for the princess, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t endure. Do you understand me, my prince?_

Jon did, but was it all about _enduring_ it? He wasn’t even sure if the princess or her Great Uncle were _aliv_ —gods, he had been holding that thought for so long and suddenly tears were spilling from his eyes. Uncle Ned enclosed him in an embrace then, and when the man heaved a deep sigh, it was as if he was holding back a sob.

The day after, ravens have finally arrived bringing news that Ser Barristan has rescued their overlord along with the princess and Ser Brynden. That had been more than a welcome respite, even though the prince had felt he should have come down to King’s Landing to personally see his little aunt’s well-being. He felt wretched and useless and not hearing from Sansa weeks after her ordeal in Dun Fort (whereas he kept sending letters to her and to Ser Brynden, even one to his lord grandfather in a steady dispense), made it all the more disheartening, if not maddening. Egg, his good old brother, took it upon himself to fill him in in what has been happening in the Red Keep: Sansa has been withdrawn when she first came back but when she learned that her mother had been suffering more spells after news of their abduction spread like wildfire (that the remaining palace officials hadn’t had the wits to shield the Lady Catelyn from it), gave her purpose to come out of her chambers and help care for her mother. Ser Brynden had been beaten badly during his imprisonment in the Dun Fort but Grand Maester Aemon said that the worse has passed and the knight will recover from his injuries. Their father Rhaegar had taken over the Small Council as the acting-king whilst their lord grandfather had been bedridden from extended periods of fever and lost appetite. After the Defiance of Duskendale there had been unrest in the capital, heightened by talk of the king’s plans of increasing tariffs on shipping to Oldtown and Lannisport as his example and warning to the smallfolk and other Houses that he wasn’t to be trifled with (as if wiping out House Darklyn and House Hollard from existence was not enough). Egg assured him it was all gossip and Father had been working hard with the help of Lord Tywin to set everything back into order. His brother also told him, not until the half of the moon has passed, that Sansa seemed to be coming back to her old self. She’d been talking with Egg and the others in greater length and had been dutifully attending her lessons. It was Dany, however, who wrote to Jon that Sansa needed a full distraction— _I can’t look at her without wanting to weep, Jon. The poor girl’s been distressed and we don’t know how to help her ease from it. Her beautiful Tully eyes don’t hold such brightness anymore… she says little of the time in Dun Fort though she swears to me she wasn’t touched or been beaten. Grand Maester Aemon examined her and told it true but I know my sister now holds scars deeper than that. I’ve been meaning to steal her away from King’s Landing for the time being. Do you think Dragonstone is lovely this time of the year?_

Dany’s proposal had been discussed with Mother and Father until finally they’ve been granted approval for Sansa’s retreat in Dragonstone, only that as the Small Council was still weary to let the royal family travel in numbers in the wake of the Defiance, they’d agreed for the Princess Sansa to travel alone, with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime to escort her. The arrangement has been finalized and Jon, along with Uncle Ned and Harry, were permitted to travel to Dragonstone then so Jon wrote another letter to Sansa, expressing his eagerness to see her again as well as his delight for Mother and Uncle Ned’s set reunion. Her response to that letter was what he’d been expecting he’d received but what emerged in the gardens was a very pale-looking Maester Colemon wringing his hands and the letters in his clasp, in company with Uncle Ned, whose face had been set into something dark and broken.

Jon’s heart threatened to burst from his chest whilst Harry voiced out his concern. “What’s the letters about my lord? Maester…?”

Maester Colemon had to sneak a frightened glance to Uncle Ned first before deciding to speak up, “T—the second queen’s dead. May the gods bless Lady Catelyn’s soul.”

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm dying to hear your thoughts about this chapter!  
> 2\. Really, truly, sorry for the looooooooooooooooong wait (I'm not going to lie, I just became distracted in a lot of things and starting the chapter with Brandon's POV really gave me a hard time but it had to be done, hopefully he's not that OOC).  
> 3\. Also, just brace yourselves: dark times ahead for the next chapter---I did mention in the tags this is a dark fairy tale? (hopefully I wasn't misleading you guys---I'm very much aware how fluffy the previous two chapters were).


	4. Chapter 4

            _Time present (Side B)_

 

 

 _Promise me, Lyanna! Promise me_ , the late second queen’s dying words echoed inside the Lady of Dragonstone’s head as she walked past the Hall of Lamps with globes of colored leaded glass suspended in the air, into the double-doors leading her to the sept-proper.

Lady Catelyn’s body laid under the Great Sept’s lofty dome of glass and gold and crystal, upon a stepped marble bier. At its head was Ser Brynden Tully standing vigil and looking more old and grim for his true age and the Princess Sansa still as a Maiden statue at her mother’s side. She also spied the princess’ septa at the farther back, just emerging from the Mother’s Doors.

“There goes your adversary,” Ser Athur Dayne whispered to her ear.

Lyanna resisted the urge to scowl at that, lest the septa saw it and used it against her as she’s been wont to do—criticizing her manners and lack of knowledge in the gentle arts, Septa Mordane had already deemed her unfit in the palace, much less to guide a royal-born. No matter that the Lady Catelyn entrusted the princess’ care to her from her will; the septa has been most adamant to relinquish her duty to Sansa, enough for her to ask audience from the acting-king Rhaegar at a time when her husband’s duties to the crown tripled since the Defiance and King Aerys’ bed-ridden state, something Lyanna admired and respected at first. After suffering several snide remarks from the septa however, it only made the whole ordeal tiresome. It was not as if she’s been interfering with the septa’s teachings even.

She gave her companion a warning side-glance and a little quip, _mayhaps you can charm her to my favor, Arthur_ , before proceeding to meet the septa’s sharp eyes to give a cordial nod. The knight only snorted in response.

Lyanna then walked into the heart of the seven altars set about with candles and into Lady Catelyn’s resting place. The Lady of Dragonstone placed a fresh garland of blue winter roses at the foot of the bier, next to the canopic jars, and paid respects to the late second queen. She was wrapped in layers of silk and brocade, her long auburn hair a fiery red in the candlelight, Lady Catelyn looked almost serene if not for the slight pull of her lips downwards now perpetually impressed, and the two death stones painted to resemble open eyes on her closed ones.

After, she reached out to Ser Brynden’s hands (bandaged though they were) in greeting and the knight held hers in appreciation. She then knelt in front of Princess Sansa, and clutched her hands as well.

“I’ve come to fetch you for supper, my sweet.”

“I—” Princess Sansa swallowed some and then continued to speak in a hoarse voice, gingerly wiping her face tracked with dried tears with the kerchief Lyanna recognized to be Arthur’s (deducing that the knight has given it to her in the time she was busy greeting Ser Brynden). “I’m not all that hungry, Lady Stark.”

“Even so, I heard from Rhaegar that you’ve been here since morning,” Lyanna reproached though not unkindly. She tuck stray hairs from the princess’ face and smoothed her dress as she went on to say, “Your body needs to take in sustenance, as any man, my princess. And your health is one of my utmost concerns.”

Eyeing Arthur at their side, Lyanna added, “Ser Arthur here will provide company to Ser Brynden while you’re away. You need to retire early to bed for tomorrow will be taxing as we journey to Riverrun.”

“It will be good to have a good night’s rest especially for a three-day ride, Princess Sansa,” Arthur coaxed.

The princess turned to her Great Uncle first and when the knight nodded in agreement, she acquiesced. She walked closer to the bier and stroked her mother’s hands that were placed on her bosom and then curtseyed to the knights in parting.

Septa Mordane made no move to follow them out of the Great Sept so Lyanna took Sansa’s hand and led her back to the entrance hall. As they stepped out, expressions of grief and condolences greeted them in the form of large gathering of crowds chanting prayers, and of gifts bearing black, red, and blue ribbons the smallfolk and nobles alike had left for the dead queen. It has been four days since the funeral procession but people born high and low kept pouring in to pay their respects for Lady Catelyn, especially as today would be the last day the late queen’s body would be interred in the Great Sept since the Small Council decided for it to be sent back to the Riverlands for House Tully’s burial rites.

Sensing the princess’ stiffening from their twined hands, Lyanna immediately spotted the honor guards without and their palanquin and headed straight for it. _This child is still weary of crowded places._

Sansa’s demeanor brightened at least when Ser Oswell Whent came into view holding her new dearest pet. A pup still, but obviously of direwolf descent, Lady as Sansa had named her, has grey fur and yellow eyes that seemed to have adopted her mistress’ dainty manners—neck protruding quite so when she saw Sansa coming to meet her.

“The others waged a bet that as soon as you left my princess, that this pup would flee from my arms. Guess who’s 50 dragons richer today,” the knight declared.

A set smile appeared on the princess’ lips before answering, “Lady has a trusting nature, ser and extremely intelligent. She knows she’s in good hands, don’t you Lady?”

The direwolf pup bobbed in earnest, her ears flattening as she licked Ser Oswell’s gauntlets before gracefully jumping into the princess’ outstretched hands.

The kingsguard beamed widely at that and went on to help Lyanna and Princess Sansa to climb into the palanquin.

“You two quickly became friends,” Lyanna commented as she buried her hands under the pup’s silky, whiskery chin. Lady came to the princess’ hands two days ago, along with the courier from House Tully bearing news that preparations have been made to quarter the royal family in Riverrun for the late queen’s interment. Prominent houses of the Seven Kingdoms have also expressed their wishes to travel to the Riverlands to witness the event and pay tribute to the Lady Catelyn, the reason why her son Jon, along with her brother Ned, and other Vale lords had come down to Riverrun. _I cannot even begin to ponder on how Ned’s been doing since news of the Lady Catelyn’s death reached him, my poor brother._

“Jon made sure to tell me what a direwolf pup likes,” Sansa opened up. “He even sent a three-page worth of ink to the kennel master with instructions on Lady’s feeding and care.”

“My boy’s nothing but thoughtful,” Lyanna said. “It’s so strange though, for them to come across a direwolf so far south.”

The direwolf licked Sansa’s chin and made tiny, urgent noises deep in her throat. The princess looked up to Lyanna in question whilst bringing a bowl of milk to her lap for Lady to drink on, “What does that mean?”

“My lord father told me they have not been sighted south of the Wall for two hundred years, and now Jon’s party found a dead female direwolf with a litter of six pups on their way to Riverrun…”

“—is it some kind of a Northern foretoken?”

“Not really, just decidedly curious,” Lyanna assured her.

Sansa appeared to have considered it before talking again in a small voice quite unlike her: something cold and unfeeling. “If it is, there can’t be anything worse than what’s already happened.”

Lyanna was about to say something to that when they heard shouts from the goldcloaks without. Ser Oswell gently tapped the palanquin’s ebony frame before drawing the silk curtains aside. “It’s the Prince Aegon. I reckon he’s looking for the princess here.”

Sansa peered out and cried in dismay, “He went out of the keep with no guards, again?!”

Lyanna heard the knight clucked his tongue and ordered their party to move on. “We’ll just have to meet him along the way. It will be dark soon.”

“Egg’s such a stubborn fool,” though evidently exasperated by the prince’s lack of adherence to the palace’s rules, Sansa had mumbled with equal fondness. She set Lady down her feet together with the empty bowl of milk and poked her head outside.

Lyanna heard the prince’s destrier spring to a stop, turned with a whinny and then sprinted towards them while Egg sputtered, _Don’t give me that look princess. I know, I_ do _know the rules I just broke… to hell with them, really._

“You mean you just want to get under Lord Connington’s nerves,” Sansa reproved, easing her body back to the palanquin and crossing her arms on her chest. By now the silk curtains were fully opened so Lyanna could perfectly see Prince Aegon smile unabashedly at the princess’ remark, directing his horse to a walk matching their litter’s pace.

“There is that… but ever since he came back I’ve been imprisoned in the palace. I’d rather spend my time with you,” he said after.

“I’m sure you have thousands to bother,” Sansa said, nose turned up.

Prince Aegon grimaced rather comically at Sansa’s jest. “Since the Tyrells came down here you know Rhaenys has been inseparable with the Lady Margaery. _Like long lost sisters_ , as Ser Loras put it. I’ve already heard talk from Mother about Rhaenys and Willas’ probable betrothal too.”

Lyanna quietly listened as the two talk while she busied her hands combing Lady’s fur, who was now sleeping soundly on her lap.

“And why not? She’s flowered and on the cusp of her maidenhood,” Sansa answered. “Ser Willas is charming to boot. I don’t suppose you’re jealous?”

The prince chortled. “Of his charms? I have plenty and more thanks to Father and Mother’s looks combined. Of being engaged? I’m still enjoying my life with no ties. I do love Rhaenys, maybe not so much as to be keen on marrying her myself but anyone who’d want her hand will always be subpar on my eyes.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but smile to that even as her heart’s being pricked by a thousand needles—hearing something close to what Brandon used to say to her of her suitors a thousand years ago.

Sansa then leaned back to the litter’s opened window facing Prince Aegon. “Ser Willas will treat Rhaenys right. Or Rhaenys will see to it that he did.”

“Considering how many my sister got eating out of the palm of her hand…” the young prince shrugged.

Sansa pursed her lips in an attempt to smother her grin. “Enough of the gossip Egg. Don’t Lord Connington have plenty of things for you to do?”

Prince Aegon’s violet eyes flashed and he rolled them as he answered the princess, “What can he teach me that I do not know already? I’ve learned from the True King, from Father and Mother, who of note he’d spent so much time vilifying when he’s still a lordling seeking for Father’s attentions… and affections I might add.”

Lyanna wasn’t surprised at the prince’s knowledge about that. It was popular court gossip and even though he was young at the time when tensions escalated between Prince Lewyn Martell and Lord Jon Connington over the latter’s drunk and _sober_ remarks about the Crown Princess’ worth in the palace, she was sure that the prince was willingly informed by the lords and ladies present in court in exchange for his favors in the future. Prince Aegon gave Lyanna a meaningful look and she answered with a noncommittal shrug, letting him know that she couldn’t care less about his words, especially what it might imply to a second wife of his father.

The prince nodded to her and continued, “I learned from Grand Maester Aemon and even from Lord Tywin—I could learn some more from interacting with the smallfolk than him.”

Princess Sansa visibly paled at Prince Aegon’s last words. She breathed in deeply first, turned her body as she reached out to Lyanna’s lap to brush Lady’s furs. “I’m not saying I like him all that much Egg, but adding to the palace’s troubles is rather nonsensical of you, especially at this time.” She then tilted her head back to the prince to gauge his reaction.

The prince’s straight back sagged a little at that, he looked at the princess pacified and now apologetic. “You are right of course. Still, it was his choice to come back and help Father with palace affairs, doesn’t necessarily mean I’d give him an easy time with it. He’s unashamed for his actions Sansa, and so do I. In that, we see eye to eye at least. But I do recognize his role in the court and for your peace of mind I’d be obedient, some.”

The princess looked up to the prince with a thin smile and a twinkle in her blue eyes, “No doubt the Seven Kingdoms would thank you for your efforts.”

“Hey! I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Whatever might this ‘reputation’ mean Lady Stark?” Sansa’s thin smile was turning mischievous now as she invited her into their conversation.

Lyanna grinned. “Something in the likes of His Grace, King of Shirking Duties, Lord of the Lazy Kingdoms and Protector of the Insolent, or so I’m told.”

Prince Aegon’s purple eyes widen, and his pale face began to redden as he mumbled curses alongside his sister Rhaenys’ name. It was an amusing sight and one that Lyanna so relished as it was something she’d never see on Rhaegar’s features in a million years, but would at least now have an idea of how it’d look thanks to his son and him being mirror-images of one another.

It was also nice seeing the princess finally laugh as she let Prince Aegon bury his face to Lady’s furs while the direwolf pup yipped in excitement but it did cause a dull ache in her heart, remembering the oath she made to the princess’ mother.

***

“Your Grace, the Crown Prince Rhaegar is here to see you,” the princess’ handmaiden Shae announced the arrival of Lyanna’s husband with Ser Barristan standing guard at the entrance from the solar to Sansa’s bedroom.

Her husband went to her fist; she was sitting on a cushioned chair beside Sansa’s bed combing the princess’ hair. Rhaegar kissed both her cheeks in greeting then sat on Sansa’s side of the bed to kiss her temple.

“We just passed by Egg along the hallway. I imagined this was where he hid for the rest of the day?”

“Just for the rest after supper. Prior to that… well I wouldn’t snitch on him,” Sansa answered.

“Interesting display of loyalty,” said Rhaegar, giving Lyanna a look as he continued, “See, this is how people spoiled him rotten.”

“But brother, Egg’s still as much a child as I, no matter if he’s considered a man now after turning five and ten. He’s been diligent with his duties, couldn’t you lay off him once in a while?”

It was remarkable to note for Lyanna that earlier Sansa was chiding Prince Aegon about breaking palace rules and neglecting his studies and training when right here in the face of her brother she’s arguing for the prince’s case. She’d learned how firm and equally considerate the princess truly was.

“I suppose I could.”

“Would you pass that on to Lord Connington as well?”

Rhaegar’s head jerked at that, and his eyes turned soft and seemed to say, _Ah_. He nodded to his sister and went on, “So how fares my little sister?”

The princess turned to Lyanna signaling for her stop with combing her hair and began to settle herself on the bed. “Well as I can be… and you?”

The crown prince smiled gently, “Tedious work in the Small Council but I’m hanging in there,” sensing somehow the princess’ detachment, he steered the conversation back to her. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

The princess only looked at him for some time before deciding to shake her head. “I’m rather tired, and everyone’s been advising me to rest early for the trip tomorrow.”

Rhaegar considered this as he stroke Sansa’s hair. “Is there nothing I can do to ease my sister’s pain?”

For a beat, Sansa looked unsure but then she raised her chin a little as she said, “You can—You can sing me to sleep. I’d very much appreciate it than dreamwine.”

“Very well, what do you want to hear?”

“Mother’s favorite song. The one you heard her teaching me as we tend the gardens in the east wing. She used—used to sing it in evenfall.”

“I remember,” Rhaegar nodded and bent down as he started to sing while combing the princess’ hair with his long fingertips. Lyanna eased herself on the chair and closed her eyes as she wait for her husband to sing.

 

 _The water is wide, I cannot get o'er_  
_And neither have I wings to fly,_  
_Build me a boat that can carry two_  
_And both shall row, my love and I._  
  
_I leaned my back up against an oak,_  
_To find it was a trusty tree,_  
_I found you true, love, when first you spoke,_  
_it’s true you are, and ever shall be._  
  
_Our love shines clearly against the storm,_  
_Turns darkest night to brightest day,_  
_Turns turbulent waters to perfect calm,_  
_A blazing lamp to light our way._  
  
_Love is the center of all we see,_  
_Love is the jewel that guides us true,_  
_No matter what, love, you'll stay with me,_  
_No matter what, my love, I'll stay with you._  
  
_The water is wide, I cannot get o'er_  
_And neither have I wings to fly,_  
_Build me a boat that can carry two_  
_And both shall row, my love and I._ *

 

By the time the acting-king has finished singing the princess had drifted off to sleep. He had kept still for a while, his indigo eyes in a haze when Lyanna decided to pull him away from the princess’ bed and into her chair to enclose him in a hug.

Rhaegar inclined his head to her and whispered in a low voice, “Sansa’s not cross with me anymore?”

“You know she’ll never be cross with you. She’s always held you in high regard.”

“That is what I’m afraid of really. When you’ve been placed on top, there’s nothing for you to do but to fall…”

Lyanna made a noise at that. She has always hated how Rhaegar would talk in a portend manner, it has always made her skin crawl and so she ignored it and stayed away from it by answering his question more directly, “Sansa is a smart child. At one point naïve, but things have happened which shaped her to see events as how they truly were. She’ll soon realize why you broke all those marriage proposals for her.”

“She’s too young for that, not even a maid flowered,” Rhaegar added. “Viserys and Dany are of the age to be married, even my own children, ( _for alliance_ Lyanna would have like to interject) and I can’t imagine why she’s rushing it now.”

Her husband abruptly stood up and began to pace the room. “I don’t think she feels as if left behind when I told her that the council and I decided not to accept any offers of marriages for her yet. And I’ve always known her to be a romantic at heart but I also know she wouldn’t push for it as we’ve very perfectly reasoned that it’s not the crown’s options to have her engaged to someone yet,” Rhaegar visibly winced at his last words and he shook his head sideways, “Still, I could not forget how her eyes looked to me the other day when we had the conversation though. She looked at me as if betrayed for some reason. She was also scared of something. It seemed as if… as if she’s telling me she didn’t want to be in the palace anymore.”

“How could that be when this is where her home is?”

Rhaegar just looked at her uncertainly.

Again, it was Lyanna who closed off their distance, her husband looming over her awkwardly as the small chair couldn’t accommodate the two of them entirely. She cupped Rhaegar’s face with her hands. “It’s okay. It’s why I’m here. I’ll look after her, find out what’s scaring her—she’s been traumatized after the Defiance and now stressed with grief for her mother, these things will take a toll on her.”

Rhaegar bobbed his head in assent and finally pulled her tight to his body.

“Would you also consider relaying to your father once more that Sansa be my handmaiden? At least until the matter of her betrothal is arranged, and before she reaches the age of maidenhood. She’ll stay with me and Arthur at Dragonstone. A brief interlude from court life would do wonders to her as I’m sure you know,” Lyanna suggested.

“Father has been rather protective of Sansa of late but I see the merit in it. I’ll argue the case with him again after all these had passed.”

It was at that time when Princess Elia walked unannounced to Princess Sansa’s room with a sigh, “I didn’t mean to intrude but it is late and we all have a long day ahead of us on the morrow.”

“I didn’t know she was waiting outside!” Lyanna hissed to Rhaegar’s ears as the man released her from his grip.

The two of them both smiled: Elia knowingly, and Rhaegar helplessly, the two obviously sharing an inside joke that Lyanna was a little uneasy to start questioning about.

“You are welcome to share our bed Lady Stark,” the Crown Princess said, her black eyes growing even darker by several long beats.

“Do you never tire of that jest?” Lyanna countered.

“I myself wonder when that became a jest to you both. I remember how Elia had said it out of spite then.”

Said princess feigned shock, fluttering her long lashes in a comical way (no doubt where Prince Aegon inherited his funny bone from) and then chose to break into another knowing smile as she said, “Even we grow out of our pointless tirades. Good night Lady Stark.” She nodded to Lyanna and then walked out of the room to the solar to wait again for Rhaegar.

Lyanna grasped her husband’s arm and teased, “I can see why you love her so.”

Rhaegar looked proud at her sentiment. But one time he looked quite relaxed and happy the next his face has already contorted into a woeful thought.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s such a shame. The journey to Riverrun… that it was the Lady Catelyn’s death that has given you prospect to see your family once more.” And then as if he couldn’t stand to look at whatever her face had contorted into, her husband has squeezed her hand where they were entwined and then left her, his shoulders sagging as he walked out of Sansa’s room.

Unbidden, Lady Catelyn’s voice came back to her then, _“Lyanna… my daughter, she has every right to know… Ned. I wasn’t even… able to know my own boy. Watch him grow. Family, above all else… our house words. Sansa must know._ _Promise me, Lyanna! Promise me.”_

Lyanna did promise Lady Catelyn that she would tell Sansa the truth of her parentage—at a time when all she could do was console Ned’s ladylove in her deathbed, but now that she had time to weigh it against the Starks’ stance with the royal family (and what a fragile foundation it has to begin with), with her son Jon, and even Sansa, inevitably bearing the brunt of King Aerys’ wrath should the truth be exposed— _This tragedy that I have helped set into motion that time I ran off with Rhaegar…_ _will I have the heart to grant Lady Catelyn’s wish when it could sentence us all to death?_

 

#

 

Sansa had registered Riverrun, Mother’s childhood home, through a flood of tears. She thought she couldn’t possibly shed any more than she did through Mother’s interment in the Great Sept and that time Grand Maester Aemon had pronounced her dead, Mother’s hand limp and slowly slipping away from her grasp, but as soon as she stepped out of the palanquin with Lady Lyanna and Shae to meet the welcoming party at the gates she’d heard gasps around her and a broken wail of _Oh no, oh Cat!_ from a portly old man who fell to his knees and tried to reach for her. Immediately several men went after the old one who had tried their best to summon him back to his feet but the old man, Sansa knew to be a lord of great import, resisted the helping hands clamoring for him and only beckoned for Sansa to come to him. So Sansa went, heart at her throat as she clasped the lord’s raised hands to her. The lord shook like a leaf and began to sob and murmur _My poor Cat. I’m so sorry, my sweet. Truly sorry_ , and that’s when fresh tears began to slip out of her eyes.

It was her Great Uncle Brynden who broke them off and pulled the man back to his feet. “That’s enough now Hoster. She’s Cat,” and then stopped short as his voice broke. Great Uncle looked in pain as he cleared his throat, blue eyes bright in the afternoon light, before continuing, “Cat’s daughter Sansa. Remember sweet Sansa?”

Lord Hoster, her lord grandfather Sansa now learned, only shook his head and whimpered in response. Sansa hadn’t noticed it but a middle-aged man suddenly emerged from her lord grandfather’s back and supported him immediately as it would seem that her grandfather’s knees would give out again. “I got it from here Uncle. I didn’t want for him to be here as he’s been riddled with fever since a day ago but the old man’s stubborn like you. Said it’s his duty as lord of this keep, you understand. If you would please direct our honored guests within?”

Great Uncle Brynden nodded sadly and held Sansa’s hand in his. “Come now princess. Let’s get you and the others to their respective quarters.” Said knight turned to the rest of their party and addressed her father King Aerys, “Your Grace, if you would follow me?”

King Aerys was quiet and polite about the scene that broke out, his pronounced violet eyes rather blank when he waved a dismissive hand at Great Uncle Brynden and started to walk inside the castle. Queen Rhaella was the one who moved next, alongside her retinue and soon the train consisting the rest of the royal family marched on. Her brother Rhaegar and his wife Crown Princess Elia stayed behind to talk with the middle-aged man supporting her lord grandfather Hoster.

Only then was Sansa able to lower her eyes to the ground as she avoided any more glances from the people around them, from her half-siblings’ concerned looks to other lords and ladies’ pitying ones, willing for her tears to stop and her heart’s beat to slow down. And then from the corner of her eyes she’d spied a white furry thing trot towards her. Blinking back the tears she saw a pristine white direwolf pup linger at her feet, eyes a stark red as it looked up to her. He’s a bit bigger than her Lady and quiet as he followed her feet’s movements towards the entrance of the keep where Lady Lyanna and Egg were waiting for her. She’d noticed that a scarf was tied around the pup’s neck as she bent down to pick it up, the very one she’d given Jon close to four years ago when he was sent to the Eyrie to be fostered under Lord Arryn, but a quick glance to the yard told her his master was not around.

“Ghost?” she’d murmured to the pup, recalling the name Jon had given his pet. The direwolf pup’s eyes seemed to be fixated on her when all of sudden he began licking the tears from her chin. That pulled a smile from her lips as the action proved to be ticklish. “Did Jon teach you this?”

Ghost, as was expected, did not answer her but he did place his little furry head on her bosom and closed his eyes.

“What a charmer,” Egg remarked as Sansa reached their side. “Is that Jon’s?”

Sansa nodded in answer. Lady, who was currently on Shae’s arms seemed to perk up at the sight of her brother, her ears pricked and tail lifted when Sansa walked towards her handmaiden. Then again, that seemed to be the extent of Lady’s interest as she mirrored Ghost’s position and laid back on Shae’s bosom.

“Looks to me these two are not big on reunions,” her handmaiden remarked.

“Speaking of my brother, where in the seven hells is he?” Egg wondered aloud.

As if on cue, an eager big bald knight appeared at the prince’s side. “Your Grace, I’m Ser Robin Ryger.”

Egg spun to face the old knight squarely. “Yes, good ser?”

“Captain of the guards here. Couldn’t help but overhear your question. I’d like to inform you of his whereabouts.” Ser Robin paused but when it dawned on him that Prince Aegon wouldn’t prod, he cleared his throat to continue, “Prince Jon and the Lord Arryn together with Lord Stark and Lord Baratheon with scores of men went hunting early this morning. They’ll be back no more later than sunset.”

Egg who was tall as the knight at age five and ten reached out to pat his pauldron. “Thank you for your information Ser Robin.”

Taking it right as his dismissal, the knight bowed and nodded to Sansa and Lady Lyanna before walking straight to the courtyard.

“No doubt that party did it out of courtesy, sparing everyone here of lord grandfather’s sure scorn. Either way he’ll still take it as slight for them not to welcome him,” Egg commented pensively.

“We can only hope for everyone to be amiable out of respect for Lady Catelyn,” Lady Lyanna added. She then pushed Sansa and Egg onwards, “For now let us find our own chambers to settle down and leave talk of diplomacy for later.”

Sansa walked on but was unable to put Egg’s remark out of her head. King Aerys was a changed man after the Defiance—what was once a generous and resolute ruler became a suspicious man; he’s quick to anger and more prone to furious outbursts, ofttimes resorting to mocking and taunting when his word wasn’t obeyed. Her brother Rhaegar bore the brunt of her father’s temper as the latter was never satisfied of how his son was ruling in his stead.

In the following weeks after Ser Barristan came to their aid and freed them from the Darklyns, Sansa had heard stories of how her lord father was said to pace in his room, tore his hair and cried out loud. It was believed to be the product from cleansing his blood by the poison induced to him by Lady Serala Darklyn. The king had ignored the food the attendants brought to him, cursed the servants as well as the members of his Small Council when they tried to encourage him to eat, which served to weaken him even more than the time they were imprisoned in the Dun Fort.

 _Father now looks as his iron throne, face gaunt but with sharper features and violet eyes that’s like to cut you._ And Sansa grew afraid of him. At the end of the Defiance, Lord Denys Darklyn and all of his house were beheaded, while his wife was burnt alive. Not before her lord father ordered the lady’s tongue to be torn out alongside her female parts—all of which Sansa’s been made to watch. And she didn’t want any of it at all. _It was horrible and maddening._ With torn flesh and blood oozing, Lady Serala’s shrieks and call for mercy had haunted her since. Sansa also remembered that she would have emptied her stomach for the nausea the scene brought her but the Darklyns had only fed them small portion of meals for the week they held them captive, and the strength left to Sansa was used for her to stand next to the king and not sway under his bruising grip on her shoulder.

She didn’t want to see how the sentence was to be meted out to House Darklyn and House Hollard, but her Great Uncle Brynden was too hurt and delirious from the wounds he had suffered to argue for her case, and Ser Barristan could only accede to his liege lord’s commands. By the time her brother Rhaegar and the Hand of the King pushed their way past the knights and the people that had gathered in the streets of Duskendale to witness such display, Sansa had already seen a small boy put to sword. _Dontos!_ was what the child’s mother wailed in agony. _That was the little boy’s name, innocent of what transpired in Dun Fort. How was that justice at all?_

Sansa recalled screaming with the boy’s mother then, but there was no sound that came out of her mouth. She was then snatched away from her lord father’s clutch by Rhaegar, who was livid at that time (something the princess has not witnessed in all the years she’s known him), learning how their father dealt with the two Houses’ treason, and Sansa’s presence on the execution stand. Their argument would have continued on with a hundred of smallfolk watching, if not for Lord Tywin and Ser Barristan’s intervention.

The princess only snapped from her recollection when she heard the direwolves whining. She didn’t remember ever entering a room, but she did find herself standing inside a well-lit chamber, right next to a large featherbed. Shae gestured for her to hand Ghost over and she did, albeit in slight confusion. Reading her knitted brows, her handmaiden said, “I’ll feed these pets, milady. I’ve also instructed two servants to draw your bath. They’ll be up shortly. Lady Lyanna said you should rest and take a nap after your bath since we have the afternoon to ourselves. As for the night, there’s to be a feast so said by a steward whose name I couldn’t quite repeat myself.” Shae continued to fuss over Lady and Ghost, setting two bowls of milk on the fresh rushes next to a stool and vanity table, “Oh, was it Uthres or Uthry? It did sound long though. Also, Prince Aegon said he’ll escort you to the feast so expect him to be here, and expect him to come late.”

Sansa nodded, albeit still feeling out of sorts from remembering what happened two moons ago. _Has it been that long?_ She felt like she could still smell Lady Serala’s burnt flesh and the tang of blood from countless headless people. The princess shuddered and immediately reached for a cup of water and drank it, willing for the _imagined_ _taste_ to vanish and then climbed to bed, “I guess I’ll take a nap now. Please instruct the servants to draw my bath late in the afternoon instead.”

“As you wish, milady.”

 

***

“Now you’ve done it,” a hiss that Sansa heard when she opened her eyes and saw Jon Stark at the foot of her bed, long face rippling from being annoyed to sheepish and to relief. _The_ face of the person she’s sorely missed.

A cry of _Jon!_ from her was all the signal the young man took to walk to her side and embrace her body that was already half out of bed reaching for him.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” she asked, gently pulling his dark curls.

“No! And I’m sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry—” murmured Jon to her neck.

As much as it was great seeing, feeling, smelling and hearing Jon once again, Sansa has to push him back to stare at him incredulously. “Stop! We’ve only been reunited, and already you’re being remorseful about it.”

It was Jon’s turn to stare at her in surprise. He huffed. “It’s not that! But I am indeed sorry… and, well…”

“Yes?” Sansa prompted patiently.

“I really wanted to see you after we got back from hunting. I couldn’t wait ‘til the feast…” Jon scratched the back of his neck while glaring to the side, his cheeks turning pink. “I know it’s improper and I’m sorry. Your handmaiden told me you were resting and I decided that I just want to have one tiny glimpse and won’t linger long, that I won’t disturb your sleep. So I… snuck in. But I didn’t know Ghost was here! Soon as I entered I felt like a complete fool and was ready to go but Ghost wouldn’t come with me. I was ready to leave him but then he started pulling the sheet of your bed. And here we are.”

“Here we are,” Sansa echoed him. “And the side you’re glaring at is where Ghost is?” she said as she tried to peer at the floor but couldn’t see any white fur from the angle she was looking in.

Jon nodded resentfully.

Sansa tittered and pulled Jon’s face back to her. “I’m glad. Else I wouldn’t catch a certain prince sneaking about in my chamber.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I have missed you, Jon.”

“And I you.” Jon’s grey eyes turned impossibly soft looking at her and his lips curled in a soft smile that kindled a warm feeling in Sansa’s chest. He’s four and ten now, soon to be considered a man grown. And he did grow in the last three years she hasn’t seen him. He’s stretched a few and resembled Lady Lyanna more than ever, it’s only an afterthought that she found herself thumbing the skin below his left eye.

“I’m staring too hard, aren’t I?”

“Aye,” Jon responded, obviously pleased.

Sansa would as like pinch his skin for that, but Jon acting smug only meant he’s finally found bits of self-assurance a noble boy like him should have, no matter the manner of his parentage. “The Eyrie did you good, I can see. Should I expect no more brooding from you?”

“Alas,” Jon’s face contorted into an evident charade of being insulted, “That’s one thing I couldn’t seem to shake off.”

“No. You wouldn’t be my Jon if you ever lose that look.”

Said prince was fully smiling at her now. That has always been a good look on him, made all the more special for how rare they appear on his face. Jon then brought his face down to her level and gently knocked his forehead to hers. His grey eyes set on her, “I’m also sorry for the Lady Catelyn. My deepest condolences for you, my princess.”

Sansa immediately swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “I… I’ve lost her years ago, Jon. I know that now...” She then looked away from his sympathetic eyes. “Mother’s sickness has slowly consumed her over the years, until all she’s left was a shell of what she once was. She’s fought it, I know she did. The only comfort I could have from her death is that she’s finally free of that strain.”

Jon remained silent, and only bobbed his head at her words. For that, she’ll always be eternally grateful of him. Silence has always been soothing with Jon.

The two of them only broke free from their hold of each other when they heard someone announce in a sing-song voice (but urgent all the same) “Oh~! Your Grace~! I do believe the diversion we’ve set to Ser Harlan and that handmaiden has come to its end! You better get out now, Jon!”

Jon stiffened for a beat before scrambling away from Sansa’s hands, almost knocking down the chair at his back and tripping himself on the way to the solar. His face reddening again, “Right! I… I’ll leave Ghost with you then… See you at the feast Sansa.”

The princess couldn’t help but chuckle at the display. With a wave of her hand and a crinkle of her nose she said, “Not if I see you first.”

 

#

 

Contrary to what Sansa and Jon had planned, they did not see each other at the feast. Citing it as a solemn gathering on the eve of Lady Catelyn’s burial rites, only close friends to the royal family and House Tully were permitted to come to the castle. It was understood all the same that Sansa’s lord father barred any lords and ladies coming from the Arryn, Stark, and Baratheon camps to attend the feast. No one batted an eye when the said Great Houses did not receive any invitation as King Aerys did ensure that they were allowed to set up their own festivity in honor of the late second queen, on the grounds where they were encamped for the night, Sansa’s sure something her brother Rhaegar insisted.

The feast, however, was anything but solemn with the drums pounding hard, flutes and pipes blown, harps and viol strung and endless chatter from the attendees. The minstrels at the musician’s gallery located at the back would be hard pressed to be heard from all the noise in the Great Hall.

From the raised dais, Sansa surveyed the singing and the dancing, of men and women dressed in mourning, a sea of black and dark colors upon her. On one of the trestle tables halfway to the entrance door she spotted her sister Dany talking animatedly with Prince Quentyn Martell, while in contrast her brother Viserys and Princess Arianne Martell were engaged in a deep conversation sharing one cup of wine and seated on stone chairs next to the carved large window left of the hall. She saw Lady Lyanna and Prince Oberyn dancing, and have been at it for an extended time. Their companions on the floor and paired up so were: Rhaenys and Willas Tyrell, Lady Margaery Tyrell and Lord Tyrion Lannister, Prince Trystane Martell and her cousin Myrcella Tully, Lord Lancel Lannister and Lady Janna Tyrell who appeared to be bickering while gliding across the floor, Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife Lady Leonette Fossoway, and Egg with Lady Olenna Redwyne, who brought smiles to other lords and ladies still on their seats with their odd but equally fascinating dance routine.

Everyone seemed warm as fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned from iron sconces on the walls, but the heat and the noise were making Sansa sick.

“Would you care for a dance, princess?” her Uncle Edmure whispered to her ear.

A dance was the last thing she needed, now that her head began throbbing but she couldn’t exactly deny this courtesy her uncle was bestowing on her. He may have thought that she wanted to dance when he noticed her staring at the people on the floor. She only nodded in response and bowed low to the rest of the people on the dais (her father, Queen Rhaella, her brother Rhaegar and Crown Princess Elia, her uncle’s wife Lady Cersei and the lady’s father, hand of the king Lord Tywin) before joining Uncle Edmure on the way down the platform.

It was just as well that the Bair and the Maiden Fair ended when Sansa and Uncle Edmure got to the revelers, but when the tune of Iron Lance stirred Sansa could only smother her sigh of exasperation as the latter song was equally rousing and would surely worsen her headache.

Uncle Edmure was a fair dancer, the princess had found. She was careful to meet his Tully blue eyes and presented him a few smiles when he spun and twirled her around, lest he deemed her an unimpressed partner. The throbbing in her forehead wouldn’t abate however, and slowly she felt that things were spinning and spiraling, and she couldn’t seem to take root of the floor she was standing on. _Was Uncle Edmure still lifting me? The dance… soon,_ and just then the dance ended. The audience in the hall took to clapping and praising and Sansa pushed herself to bow low to thank her uncle and to grasp her surroundings that was swaying in her eyes.

“Glad to find you here, princess!” Sansa heard Egg exclaim from a few steps away. She felt, rather than saw, the prince sweeping her up and providing her support to stand on her feet, his arms holding a firm grip on her elbows. “You wouldn’t mind if I steal her for a few dance, would you my lord?” he’d said to her uncle.

Uncle Edmure shook his head and shot them a relieved smile. “Not at all! My wife often tells me I’m a fair dancer but just for the one dance. If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’d very much like to parch my thirst,” and then her uncle left them, sauntering back to the dais.

“And you Sansa? Would you like to have a cup of water? You look a little green.” Egg whispered to her ear as he guided them both away from dancing bodies.

 _Attentive as ever_ , Sansa mused. She suspected Egg has noticed her quiet distress during her dance with Uncle Edmure and came to her rescue by whisking her away, and sparing an awkward scenario between them two.

The thought may have brought a smile to her face when Egg remarked, “Are you possibly drunk? Did you touch any ale or mead?”

“No, none of that.” It would seem that composure’s getting back to her when she controlled herself from snorting at Egg’s words. “Help me get out of here, please?”

“What ails you?”

“The heat and the noise mostly.”

“Alright, just hang on to me, princess.” Sansa could now hear the smile on his words. He was clearly enjoying playing nurse.

Her vision’s getting clearer and just in time to see a worried look on Dany when they passed by her spot, her conversation with Prince Trystane halted. So she mouthed to her sister, _Not feeling well, off to bed_ , and waited her nod of assent before moving and tugging Egg along.

The prince managed to grab a cup of water in the interim and had passed it to Sansa’s free hand. The princess sipped a few and returned it back to her nephew who waved at a server for him to come get it. Sansa then freed herself from Egg’s grasp and stood by herself, testing if the floor wasn’t swaying beneath her anymore. When she’s sure she could walk straight, she turned to Egg and declared, “It’s okay, Egg. I’m fine now.”

“A pity, I rather like holding you close,” responded the prince with a toothy grin.

Sansa let her eyes roll and grabbed hold of Egg’s left hand. “Be satisfied with this then.”

Her nephew chuckled and tugged at their entwined hands. “A man couldn’t ask for more.”

The two of them were out the door of the Great Hall when Ser Arthur, who was tasked to guard it alongside Ser Jonothor, called their attention.  “Might I know where the two of you are heading, Your Grace?”

“Sansa has a headache, and I’m escorting her to her chambers,” Egg swiftly replied. “And no need for you to escort me, escorting the princess. That’s a rather dull affair.”

Ser Arthur regarded the prince’s words unimpressed but it was Ser Jonothor who replied back with an indulgent smile, “Do go on then, Your Grace.”

When the Sword of the Morning looked as if to argue what the other knight has just said, the prince immediately took off with Sansa forcing to walk in large strides to match her nephew’s pace.

They were out of the two kingsguards’ earshot, however, when Egg changed his tune. Hands holding each other, he leaned to her side and whispered conspiratorially “You do feel fine now, right Sansa? And you don’t feel sleepy at all?”

Knowing him all too well she asked, “Oh pray tell what you’re scheming.”

The prince looked not the least bit ashamed when he told her, “I’m thinking of sneaking to the camps outside the castle. Let’s go see Jon, huh?”

“I already saw him this afternoon…” Sansa admitted.

“What? That boy? Sneaking here?” Each words were punctuated by the widening of Egg’s eyes, it almost made Sansa giggle by how comical he was being.

“I do believe he had some accomplice. What’s surprising was how the guards kept mum about it. They made a ruckus when Jon went out of my room… but I guess Rhaegar took care of it, clearly not wanting Father to hear about it.”

Egg shook his head, a look of wonder on his face, “I still can’t believe how bold he’d been! Not that there was anything wrong by it. He just went to see his kin… and Jon _is_ family.” The prince stared at Sansa again, “You do realize that after sharing this story, it made me just all the more set for sneaking off?”

“Who said I’m dissuading you?”

Disbelief was written plainly on her nephew’s handsome face. “You’re… not?”

Sansa released a sigh to calm the budding thrill in her heart. “I’d like some fresh air to clear my head. And I do want to see Jon again, but you better swear you won’t do anything foolish!”

Egg nodded rapidly, smiling widely at her he even raised his pinky finger in salute, “I swear to the Seven.”

Glancing at their hands and fingers still tangled together Sansa whispered, “Seven help me.” Egg then led her not to her chambers on the third floor up but out of the keep itself.

***

Sansa and Egg watched as the portcullis was being drawn upward and the drawbridge being lowered, the two of them perched on a farm wagon filled with casks of wine and ale that were to be given at the three great feast tents thrown up on the far bank outside Riverrun—at least what the two of them overheard from the servants scattered in the courtyard. Egg managed to find themselves cloaks to conceal their fancy attires so as not to attract attention, and it was his idea to hide on the wagon so they would have no trouble getting discovered at the gates. Setting down a few casks, they have created enough room for the two of them to sit on while being hidden from the waggoner’s sight upfront; it was dark in the courtyard to boot and everyone’s minding their own affairs. At the end, they got out of the castle unnoticed.

 _It’s noisier outside_ , Sansa lamented. The sounds of horns and drums rolled across the camp as the wagon moved along. She heard shouted toasts and the clash of cups, horses whinnying and dogs barking, other wagons rumbling through the dark, laughter and curses, and the clank and clatter of steel and wood. The night air was cool to her skin though.

Her eyes adjusting to the dim light the rows of torches could only provide, the princess could make out some hundreds of horses and hundreds more men, most of them milling about the three huge feasts tents that stood side by side facing the castle gates, like three great canvas longhalls. When the wagon made its stop and Egg felt jostling around the casks of mead and ale and wine, it was then that he decided they climb off and walk afoot.

Sansa and Egg passed smaller tents and brightly colored pavilions. Some with their house sigils plastered on closed tent flaps, while others were tied back and open, men and women were pushing in and out with drinking horns and tankards and cups in their hands. No one ever paid them attention so Sansa shrugged off her cloak and Egg did the same. It was an unspoken agreement that to find Jon, they’d have to find a tent with a falcon in its house sigil but so far the closest thing they saw was a bird Sansa knew to be a mockingbird.

“We couldn’t be far from where Jon should be situated in. Mockingbirds are House Baelish heraldry,” Egg explained. “And House Baelish is one of its sworn houses.”

Sansa stared dreadfully at the rows of tents stretching before them. “We’d never find him though if we don’t ask anyone.”

“Right. Stay here and I’ll ask someone.” Egg instructed, head already turning left and right in search of a person.

Sansa huffed at this. “I did say we should stick together,” she chided him as she followed his footsteps and tried to reach for the end of his braided hair swinging to and fro in order to stop him from his tracks. Just then, from one of the dark corners of the camp emerged a loose-running horse coming fast towards where they stood. It was followed by various shouts for them to move out of the way but fear instantly gripped Sansa that even though Egg had managed to grab hold of the sleeve of her gown, she only pushed herself back from his pull.

She didn’t understand why she did so, but everything seemed to slow down all at once. She could see the distress marring Egg’s handsome face, crying out for her, and how he was lifted off by a burly man. She could hear the sound of the horse’s hooves as they crush the soft ground it passed when she too was yanked by an unknown man. A cry was ripped out of her when she and the man who pulled her aside lost their balance and landed on the dirt, a few crawls away by being trampled to death.

Gingerly, the man hauled himself away from her and stopped short from standing up to hover over her.

“Are you hurt, my lady?” Grey eyes looked at Sansa in surprise, and then in worry. The lantern hanging from one of the tents illuminated the man’s face, appearing to be middle-aged and…

 _By the gods,_ the princess swore in her head. _He looks so alike Jon!_

“…my lady?” prompted the man again, more concerned now at her silence.

“Oh Sansa!” howled Egg, crouching down her side to help her get up.

“I… I think I’m fine,” heart beat slowing down, she finally spoke and thought she heard a few sighs of relief from the men surrounding her and Egg.

“Are you really?” her nephew probed, touching her elbow that struck the ground.

Sansa tried not to but the pain she felt surprised her and she winced. The prince stared at her in reproach.

“We need for you to see a maester,” the man who rescued Sansa declared.

Egg regarded the man with suspicion, “I’m sorry but… you are?”

“Eddard. Eddard Arryn, Your Grace,” he supplied, head bowing in respect to their liege.

Sansa did not miss the look Egg gave her when Lord Arryn’s identity was known to them. “Lord Arryn, I thank you for saving my life. How could I ever—”

The lord shook his head with a melancholic smile. “I would feel all the better if we have someone look at your elbow, princess.”

The burly man next to Egg’s side finally spoke, “I do wonder what two young royals are doing out here all on their own?”

Egg shoot the man an annoyed look and then turned back to face Lord Arryn to explain, “Truthfully, we snuck here to see your ward.”

The lord looked at them and only bobbed his head. “I see. Let’s all be thankful that nothing serious happened here,” he’d said, grey eyes meeting his companion’s blue ones. It seemed to Sansa that they were talking with just glancing at each other.

Lord Arryn heaved a sigh before facing back to Sansa and Egg again, “And it’s not like you both expected for harm to come to you here. Terrance, please inspect what happened to that horse, if it came from our camp?”

“At once, my lord,” the beckoned man responded swiftly, turning his heel from them to find the irresponsible handler of the horse that caused a commotion in their part of the camp.

“We better move on,” the Protector of the Vale announced to his men. And then to Sansa and Egg he said, “Prince Jon should be there, waiting for my return. In truth, he had _asked_ me _permission_ to sneak into the feast in the castle.”

Egg laughed then. “Only Jon would do such a thing!”

***

“Look who we found after fetching you lot another batch of drinks at the castle gates,” the big blue-eyed lord Sansa’s yet to learn the name, declared as he raised the tent’s flap to come in.

The room turned deadly quiet as Sansa and Egg walked inside the large pavilion that was Lord Arryn’s. In it were two long trestle table with lords and ladies perched on long wooden benches, chattering happily judging from the unruly laughter coming from within. Too bad they had interrupted their merriment.

“Sansa! Egg!” the princess heard Jon’s voice before spotting him down the table scrambling to get to them.

Lord Arryn then raised his hand, as if addressing a rowdy crowd and said, “Let us all welcome our visitors, Prince Aegon and Princess Sansa of House Targaryen. The two of them came here to join our celebration in honor of our departed queen.”

Men and women rose to curtsey to them, all the while murmuring: _May she rest in peace, our second queen, and Seven blessings to the dead queen_.

Sansa couldn’t help but shudder. It was Egg who took the lead then in addressing the people around them, just as what he was trained to do all his life. The chatter gradually returned thanks to Egg’s charming persona, urging the lords and ladies to continue what they have been doing while he and the princess talk to their kin Prince Jon.

Said prince who was still in shock but smiling a little now finally reached out to enclose Egg in a hug after he finished talking with some of the lords in the pavilion.

“You managed to drag Sansa here! I can’t believe your daring.”

“It’s been fun, brother! Except for that part where—”

“Where we almost got trampled to death by a wild horse, if not for Lord Arryn’s intervention,” Sansa butted in.

“A what?!”

“Aye… at least that wasn’t caused by my silliness, admit it princess.” Egg shot back.

Sansa could only consent to it with a casual shrug, “It would be the first.”

“You both are losing me!” Jon complained even before Egg could respond with another retort.

A tall, exquisite woman approached the three of them then, holding a box full of salves and ointments peering out of it. “Begging your pardons, but I was told by Lord Arryn to see to the princess’ injury?”

“You got hurt?” said Jon, suddenly at her side and examining her stature.

“I don’t know if I did,” she answered. The woman asked for the princess to follow her towards the two unoccupied chairs close to the back of the tent and instructed for her to sit down and roll up her sleeves. Egg and Jon followed suit quietly whispering to each other. Sansa imagined Egg’s filling him in on what transpired earlier.

“I’m afraid we have no maesters here with us, Princess Sansa. But I do know how to tend to wounds, cuts and bruises due to my wild beasts of a husband and sons.” The lady ended with an infectious smile.

And so Sansa beamed in spite of the pain she felt while the lady prodded her right elbow. “What shall I call you my lady?” she asked to help distract her from the throbbing of her skin.

“I’m Lady Ashara of House Stark.”

“Ser Arthur’s sister?” she blurted in surprise.

“That too,” she responded while slathering the skin below her elbow with a cool green ointment. “This one’s smarting but I do believe a bruise is all you’ll ever get from the horse incident. No broken bone far as I can tell. But do remember to have this checked by a maester once you get back to the castle alright?”

Sansa nodded, thanking her profusely.

“I’ll see to it that she does, my lady,” Egg volunteered.

“That you do. I’ll take my leave then. Your Graces,” nodding at all three of them Lady Ashara strode off and out of the pavilion.

“She’s not joining us here?” Sansa asked Jon.

“No she won’t. Her eldest son, my cousin Robb, has a bad case of colds for the last two days and she’s been tending to him.”

“Oh, poor thing,” the princess commented as she rolled her sleeves down and spotted another person walking towards them, this time a tall young man with sandy hair. Said man curtseyed to them and sidled to Jon with an impish grin, dimples set on his chin.

“I beg Your Grace’s honor to introduce me to your kin,” he’d said to the Prince of Dragonstone.

Jon obliged, snaking a hand around the man’s shoulders in fondness. “Princess Sansa, Prince Aegon, I’d like to present to you my foster brother Harrold Hardyng, also known as Young Falcon of House Arryn.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Sansa and Egg greeted Harrold in unison.

“Pleasure’s all mine. And please call me Harry, Your Graces. It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Harry it is,” conceded Egg. “I’d like to thank you for taking good care of my little brother. I’ve read tales about you from his letters over the years, of how you made his life in the Eyrie bearable and enjoyable. Especially that visit to the Gulltown?”

Harry’s aquiline nose curled in a snort. “A visit that wasn’t very fruitful, I’m afraid. Jon’s too much of a—”

“Prude?” finished Egg with a wide smirk.

“Your words, not mine!” laughed Harry, his blue eyes taking stock of Jon’s reddening face and set jaw. “Can I interest you for a tankard of wine?” gesturing for Egg to follow him to the other side of the pavilion where men were in line waiting to receive their drinks. “We could have more of this talk and others, and not embarrass Jon in front of the princess anymore.”

Said prince snarled in gripe while Egg ruffled his brother’s dark curls as he left him and Sansa to their own. “I knew introducing them to each other is a double-edged sword,” Jon said regretfully.

The princess has half a mind to ask Jon about the Gulltown incident as he never mentioned anything about it in his letters to her but one look at his anxious grey eyes and cheeks still aflame she opted to steer away from that hanging topic altogether. She motioned for Jon to sit on the chair opposite her instead.

After quite a while, Jon broke their companionable silence with, “This evening feast is meant to honor your lady mother’s memory.”

Sansa could hear her nephew’s disapproval on this eve’s celebration, at least as to how it was being spent. “I’d like to hear more stories of her youth in truth.”

Jon’s face lit up with an idea then, “It just occurred to me that you haven’t met your Aunt Lysa yet!”

Sansa nodded, unsure of what Jon was getting at. She has learned that her Aunt Lysa was married to Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End after his older brother refused to inherit their lands and title, _Oh… because Aunt Lysa’s now part of House Baratheon, she would be barred from the castle too, would she?_

To Jon she asked, “Is she here?”

“She left the pavilion just before you and Egg came. She might come back in a while.” Jon stood and offered his hand for her to take. “I’ll direct you to where her husband is. Might be we could ask for her from him.”

Aunt Lysa’s husband, was a tall broad shouldered and sinewy man. His head has only a fringe of black hair and sported a close-cropped beard across his large jaw. His dark blue eyes and heavy brow regarded Sansa carefully as Jon spoke for her case. To say that she’d found the lord to be intimidating was an understatement. Nevertheless, he welcomed them from the section of the long table he was in and ordered for her and Jon to sit in front of him while they wait for his wife who had gone back to their own tent to check if their children Robert, Shireen, Orys and  Borros were already sound asleep.

Lord Stannis eventually raised his hand to call the attention of the three lords who just walked inside the pavilion to come to their side. “These three have met your lady mother back when she’s still a young maid, if memory serves right,” he’d said when the three lords, two of which Sansa had already met due to the horse incident, got within hearing distance. “Her Grace begs stories about her mother to be told, and seeing as this is a feast made in her honor, I’d hoped we could grant that wish.”

Sansa taught she saw Lord Arryn and the burly blue-eyed man tensed at Lord Stannis’ words. The other tall grey-eyed man smiled sadly at her and introduced himself as Lord Brandon of House Stark. He sat next to her whilst his two companions took that as their cue to follow suit. Lord Arryn and the other lord who bared resemblance to Lord Stannis, Sansa could now see, took their seats opposite Sansa and Jon’s. It was Lord Brandon who regaled Sansa of how he and the others met Lady Catelyn that fateful day Lord Eddard and Lord Robert were to be fostered in the Eyrie, who both made a rest to Riverrun before starting their journey in the Mountains of the Moon. Soon, the solemn stories changed to colorful ones when Lord Robert joined in on the talk, sharing a few stories of mischief him, her mother, Lady Lysa and Lord Edmure got into, to the exasperation of Ser Brynden and Lord Hoster and the household staff in Riverrun. Such stories filled Sansa’s heart with warmth and greed, wanting to ask for more when Jon reminded the princess that Egg and her absence in the castle would surely result into trouble for them two.

Lord Arryn, Lord Stark and Jon had escorted them back to the castle gates, instructing the guards to sweep the prince and princess’ presence in the camp grounds under the rug lest the two lords report their own negligence, having let the two royals’ escapade happen in the first place. The guards swore their silence on the matter and hastily arranged for the prince and princess to be sent inside the castle.

Sansa and Aegon were back on the farm wagon, now empty of casks of ale and wine. The latter was passed out and snoring softly. Apparently he and Harry went on a drinking spree. She’d hugged both Lord Arryn and Lord Stark, thanking them for their stories of Mother and she lingered at Lord Arryn’s side for a beat longer, thanking him again for having saved her life.

His long face and grey eyes looked at her wistfully, grabbed both her hands in his and squeezed them tight before releasing them a moment too quickly.

“Can you wake Egg when you reach the keep?” Jon asked her as he eyed his older brother’s sleeping form.

“I can handle him,” she reassured him.

Jon nodded at that, stepped close to where she’s sitting and then kissed her forehead, wishing her sweet dreams for the night.

 

#

 

Sansa watched from the battlements as hundreds of banners flew everywhere, but largely was the leaping trout of Riverrun. She promised herself she wouldn’t send off Mother with a heavy heart and so she started calming her nerves by recalling fond memories, _Mother sewing in front of the hearth, Rhaegar telling her stories behind the songs she loved, Mother and her baking lemon cakes in the kitchens, Dany and her exchanging stories about the future men they’ll marry, Mother writing letters in the godswood, Jon and her in the library with several books spread open before them, Mother singing her to sleep, Egg and her riding one horse to the horror of their master-of-horse and the indulgence of Great Uncle Brynden, Mother praying at the royal sept, Viserys and her dancing in the gardens, Mother taking care of the cuts she’s suffered from playing the harp the first time, Rhaenys and her chasing ravens in the rookery while Grand Maester Aemon looked on, Mother, Mother_ —Sansa closed her eyes for quite a while and then opened them to find the kingsguard laying Mother’s body in an ornate wooden boat.

Mother used to say that the Tullys drew their strength from the river, and the princess, with Tully blood in her, willed herself to be brave with the sight of the river stretching before her. Sansa saw Mother’s wedding cloak spread beneath her, rippling black and red, a stark contrast to her pale blue gown with its sheer material almost making Mother glow ethereally in the bright afternoon. Her long auburn hair was spread beneath her as well, reaching past her waist as Mother never wished for it to be cut. _He loves my hair_ , she’d say to Sansa when she’d watch her comb it at night, Mother’s blue eyes teasing and her lips curling in a secretive smile. The princess never did ask her as to whom she was referring— _was it King Aerys, was it lord grandfather, was it Great Uncle Brynden?_ Now she wouldn’t even have the chance to do so.

Mother’s coronet as the second queen of the Seven Kingdoms, with a trout scaled in gold and silver was placed beside her head. The rest of the boat was filled with bygone things that Mother held dear: an unfinished embroidery, a little bronze statue of the Mother with arms open in mercy, books, silks, assorted jewelries, and flowers of various colors. There were also driftwood and kindling and scraps of parchment and stones to make the boat heavy in the water. Seven were chosen to push the funeral boat to the water in honor of the seven faces of god. Her father King Aerys was one, with him were lord grandfather Hoster, Uncle Edmure, Great Uncle Brynden, her brother Rhaegar, Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan. These honored men launched Mother from the water stair, wading down the steps as the portcullis was winched upward. They shoved the boat out into the current. Uncle Edmure and Great Uncle Brynden waded into the river and stood chest deep to guide it on its way.

Sansa waited until the slim boat drifted out from under the red stone arch of the Water Gate and into the rush of Tumblestone's currents where it would meet the broad Red Fork. The square sail on Mother’s boat filled with wind just as Sansa’s own breath left her chest. Next thing she heard was an arrow being nocked to a bowstring. Her lord grandfather was now back on the stone floor lifting the great bow and waiting for the flames to be caught in the arrow’s point. When it did so, he drew the string to his ear with what seemed to be every bit of energy contained in his frail old body and let fly. Sansa followed its flight with her eyes and heart, the flames trailing through the air, like a star burning bright in daylight and landed to the sails of Mother’s boat. The flames leapt and scattered and engulfed the boat as it drifted downriver. Mother’s flesh and bones would soon sink along with the weight of worldly riches that identified her—laying in the riverbed with schools of fish as eternal company.

 _It was to the river that Tullys returned when their lives had run their course_. In the river's currents, Sansa could only hope Mother has found her peace with the life she’s lived.

As the ceremony ended, condolences were murmured in what seemed to be a never-ending trance. Dany was the first one to embrace her and vowed “Lady Catelyn will never be forgotten.” And that’s all Sansa wanted moving forward, to honor her lady mother and to keep her memory alive.

Viserys, in a rare display of affection, followed suit and enveloped Sansa and Dany in his long slender arms. He kissed each of his sisters’ temples and said, “I’m here. And we stand stronger together.”

From then on, hugs and well wishes continued to come: from Egg, Queen Rhaella, Crown Princess Elia, Rhaenys and Lady Lyanna, Lady Cersei with her children Myrcella and little Tommen, as well as lords and ladies present on the parapets.

The princess then decided to go down the courtyard to meet King Aerys, wanting to hug her lord father. She was taught that kings weren’t expected to show affection, courtesies drilled into her young head about what’s expected of royals and nobles to act out in public, but she wanted to feel Father’s warmth just the same, to reconnect with him from the knowledge that they lost the one person that bonded them in this life.

Sansa looked up and met her lord father’s purple eyes as she descended the stairs. The blankness there disappeared for a moment before turning into a cold sharp look. He never met her gaze again and appeared to ignore her as he went inside the keep. The princess hadn’t had the foresight that it was the start of something twisted between the two of them.

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh wow, did I certainly took my time to update this fic! I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LOOOOOOOONG WAIT GUYS (Life happened, as always. My muse comes and goes, but ultimately I couldn't set my priorities straight last year: with me juggling work as I start my masteral degree and all that jazz)  
> 2\. But I do love all your support dear readers, so here I am, back with a long chapter update to make up for my absence. I'm very much attached to this story and hopes to finish it. (I already have my endgame and written a few scenes about the last chapter, but what's real hard is in trying to get my characters there. I also have tons of Jon/Sansa fic ideas but wouldn't let myself start on them with this unfinished)  
> 3\. I do hope you're still interested in this fic of mine. Do let me know what you thought or felt after reading this chapter please~!  
> 4\. I may come back at this tomorrow and check for grammar issues etc.  
> 5\. If there are any new readers, welcome to the rideeeeeeeee ^^
> 
> *song used in here is called The Water is Wide (Australian version titled The Voyage Home)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh how time flies, Jon! In just two moons, you’ll celebrate your six and tenth nameday, and in another two moons, it’ll be the third year since Mother’s passing. I have learned that her death had been a beginning and not an ending."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning for mentions of abuse and violence; nothing too explicit but still, consider yourself warned*

"I wanna be your left hand man."

 

 

_Time present (Reel to Reel)_

 

 _Here I begin anew_ , Jon thought as he stared at his face in the looking glass illuminated by lamps whilst fastening the faulds to the cuirass, his plate armor in black blended well with the shadows of his chambers. Carsen, the page who has been assigned to him ever since he came to the Vale, helped him don the rest: tassets and a culet, cuisses, polyns, greaves, and sabatons. At age five and ten, the prince stood tall and composed even as the full plate armor looked heavy to anyone else. The truth of the matter was his whole armor weighed less than it should, a product of well-made tempered steel that his Uncle Ned gifted him for this day’s ceremony. In fact, the weight was so well spread over his body that Jon was certain he could run down the halls of the Eyrie and straight to the first waycastle Stone, or jump into his saddle with little trouble or none at all. He remembered Mya informing him that his suit was made by the finest blacksmiths, the very ones trained in Qohor, as she accompanied Uncle Ned in Gulltown when the lord placed the order. _I could never thank Uncle enough for this._

“Is that a smile I spy on our prince’s usually dour face?” Jon heard Harry blurted as he entered his room, equally smiling with dimples formed and teasing on his chin. He was dressed the same as him, albeit in silver plate armor with a grand cloak of sky blue swaying lightly as he walked closer to him.

“It suits you, the blackness of it all,” his cousin said, pale blue eyes jumping up and down his form.

“It was always my color,” Jon agreed. “But does this not bother you? Us matching?” he’d said, his hands covered in gauntlets gesturing for the designs on their suits, alike in all details except for the ones on their cuirass, Jon’s sported a wolf and a dragon for his roots whilst Harry’s displayed the moon and falcon sigil of his House.

“I have come to love you like a brother, Jon.” Harry declared in all honesty. “And after this ceremony, we’ll be brothers at arms as well. Let the mountain clans, outlaws and brigands come to fear these set of suits.”

The prince reached for the Young Falcon’s pauldrons to embrace him, whispering to his left ear, “Now who’s the dour one of us two?” Jon had let him go in time to see his cousin’s face break into a surprise and a laugh.

“This day calls for sentimentality!” said Harry with a shrug. “I couldn’t believe I ever dissuaded you from joining us back then.”

“You had good reason. Knighthood wasn’t the ideal life a boy of three and ten could only envision from the stories he’s read and songs he’s heard.”

“Just had to keep you well-grounded and I knew you’d turn out right,” when Harry spied Jon’s mouth to counter his statement because “well-grounded” should not have come out from his lips, not with all the blunder he has suffered at the hands of women and other lords, his cousin was quick to change the topic into: “Ah! I’m keeping you with this talk. Let’s come down to the courtyard or else you’ll be late for the rites.” And with a push, he set the prince to the direction of the door, motioning for Carsen to follow them and bring with him Jon’s helm and shield while he himself reached for a torch to light their way on the halls.

“First light hasn’t come yet judging by the darkness outside. No need for us to be hasty since I’m the only one taking oath in the godswood, as I keep to the old gods.” Jon murmured, referring to the fact that the new induction of knights to the sovereign order of the Vale was done in the sept yesterday. It was a rare case that everyone’s been lenient on, considering that the Brotherhood of Winged Knights was an old order founded in the Age of Heroes and flourished under the Faith of the Seven.

The said order was close to the Brotherhood without Banners despite being a relatively young order than their counterpart in the North, the Brotherhood of Night’s Watch which was also established back in the Age of Heroes. The Brotherhood without Banners was composed of soldiers, nobles and knights tasked to defend the Crownlands and the Riverlands while the latter was a military order dedicated to holding the Wall and defending the seven realms from what lies beyond it. _Wildings are to the North as mountain clans are to the Vale_ , Jon noted on the likeness of their problems at least.

“It’s a small matter,” Harry disproved him, “And all the more special, seeing as you’re a prince of the seven kingdoms. No doubt our order’s glad to have you…” and his cousin was left trailing as Jon stopped on his tracks as if shot by an invisible arrow pinning him on the spot.

“Jon?”

“You… don’t think that’s the true reason why I’m being dubbed as knight now? After only two years and a half of squiring for Lord Yohn Royce?”

Harry looked at him as if he’s grown another head. “Obviously not! In the two years that passed, who saved Ysilla from drowning from leisurely rowing at the Bay of Crabs?”

“I… did. But I had to keep an eye on her in the first place since she asked—”

“Who held and defended Runestone from the Ironborns when they came to sack it?”

“I did! As were other knights in service of House Royce—”

“Who saved Ser Andar’s life from the brink of death from the poison he ingested in Gulltown?”

“I just remembered the lessons I had with Grand Maester Aemon and Prince Oberyn—”

“Who did?!” prompted Harry, who was close enough to Jon now for them to butt heads literally. His cousin loomed over him with the torch burning brightly, the sole provider of light in the corridor.

“Aye it was me!” the prince growled in frustration as Harry wouldn’t let him finish his explanations.

Harry nodded at him as he straightened his back to assess him, “Remember that Jon. It was your bravery and quick-wittedness that the Bronze Yohn deemed you worthy to be a knight. And not because of your lineage and royal blood. And that’s the only truth you should dwell on.”

Jon blew out a breath, ran a hand to his curls and nodded as well.

“See. I told you so, just had to keep you well-grounded…”

“Any more of that and you might felt the need to groom me as well, and I’ll become more a horse than a knight.” And Jon made himself smile, grateful for having Harry by his side.

The three of them, with Carsen trailing behind cautious of holding his shield and helm as if they’re spun of glass, descended down the yard of the Gates of the Moon, where the rest of House Arryn’s household took up quarters for Jon’s induction to knighthood since a day ago. It was scarcely visible when dawn hasn’t arrived yet but when they came to the courtyard, a dozen torches alight the place. There was no mistaking then the scores of men littering outside, some of them already saddled in their horses. And Jon instantly knew what the meaning of it was, but he still turned to Harry for confirmation.

“What?” Harry bumped their pauldrons together, their steel armors ringing in the dark. “Thought we’d let our brother pledge all on his own?”

Jon’s heart swelled at the gesture. Among the men he saw and instantly recognized, there were Ser Mychel Redfort, his father Ser Horton Redfort and his brothers Ser Creighton and Ser Jon, Ser Symond Templeton, Lady Anya Waynwood with her sons Ser Donnel and Ser Wallace and her grandson Ser Roland, Ser Edmund Waxley, the knight of Wickenden, Lord Yohn Royce and his sons Ser Andar and Ser Robar, and Bronze Yohn’s daughter Ysilla, Lord Nestor Royce and his children Ser Albar and Myranda, and the prince’s Uncle Ned and Mya Stone. There were also the recently knighted men such as Gyles Grafton, Terrance Lynderly, the twins of House Ruthermont Hunter and Hyde, Ricker Sunderland, Landon Pryor and Domeric Bolton—all brothers to Jon soon.

He’d approach the party and bowed low to them all and received their greeting in the form of smiles and bobbing heads.

Bronze Yohn, the lord Jon was squiring for, spoke with his booming voice enough to startle anyone who hasn’t heard him with it, matching his lined face with slate-grey eyes and bushy eyebrows. To describe him as intimidating was an understatement when Uncle Ned has first introduced the man to him at a feast in the Eyrie. “Now you resemble your father with that black suit of armor, my prince. Why I remember how the Crown Prince unhorsed me back in the tourney at…” and the lord abruptly ended his speech at that.

Jon was sure it was _Harrenhal_ he’d meant to utter, the only subject that everyone was tiptoeing when it came to his person. The time he’d spent in the Vale made Jon learn not to care for it. If anything, he was only slightly surprised as it was the first time the lord spoke of it from the two years he’d squired for him. And he talk a great deal, ever so gracious of imparting lessons in life to his prince.

Lady Anya saved Jon from responding when she butted in, “Pretty sure Bronze Yohn’s telling you to be a better horseman than he is. Should we head out now, Jon?” And she smiled that gentle smile of hers, the crows-feet around her eyes only served to make her smile more tender. If there was anything else the prince was grateful for Harry, it was the time he’d presented him to the elderly woman and made them acquaintances. The Lady of Ironoaks raised Harry when both his parents perished from sickness and before Uncle Ned took him up under his wing. He’d doted on Harry as a real grandmother would have, and extended that to Jon in the years he’d spent in the Vale.

The prince put two fingers in his mouth and whistled and Ghost came loping out of the kennels. “Now we’re ready to head out,” he’d said to Lady Anya with a grin.

They soon set out of the castle and entered a dense forest of pine and spruce. Ghost lifted his head and then raced off to vanish in the trees.

The air seemed to still as Jon walked with his newly knighted brothers into the grove. They were just in time as first light dusted the sky. The prince knelt whilst his soon-to-be brothers gathered around him, and then he recited, “Hear my words and bear witness to my vow _._ Day breaks and now my duty begins. It shall not end upon my death. I shall take charge in aiding the less fortunate. I shall ride redressing wrongs. I shall use my sword to defend the young and innocent; my shield to protect all women. I shall use my tongue to speak the truth, my eyes and head to judge fairly. I decree my heart to brave fears and give mercy when asked. I pledge my life, fortunes and honor to the Brotherhood of Winged Knights from this day forward.”

Jon felt someone clasping a large cloak at his back, while another placed his helm on his head.

Bronze Yohn forewent the dubbing invoking the Seven and instead tapped Jon’s right and left shoulder as he proclaimed, “You knelt as a boy, rise now as a knight of Mountain and Vale.”

Jon did as he was bid, minding not to trip on his sabatons-covered-toes as his heart pounded, sure to be overheard by everyone near him.

 

***

 

_To Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

_Or should I say Ser Jon?_

_I hope my letter arrives on time to congratulate you on your knighthood. I am ever proud of you. Do keep an eye for my gift due to arrive at the Eyrie in a week. The ravens, sadly, couldn’t fly it to you because of its weight… and that’s all I’m willing to hint at you._

_Lady’s growing up fast and although she causes no trouble in the Red Keep, her hugeness still puts people in shock and fright. Is it the same with Ghost? Egg has also been teaching her tricks to the delight of the courtiers in the palace. I chide him so for making a spectacle out of her but a few tricks which involves her carrying my harp on her snout and answering to my whistle proved to be handy and endearing so I try not to make a fuss about it too much._

_Oh how time flies, Jon! In just two moons, you’ll celebrate your six and tenth nameday, and in another two moons, it’ll be the third year since Mother’s passing. I have learned that her death had been a beginning and not an ending._

_Your life begins anew as a knight of the Vale as well. With Rhaenys recently married and now living in the Reach, Viserys waging his little battle to have two wives in Dany and Arianne, Egg now being called Crown Prince as Rhaegar’s considered king in all but for the coronation. I feel as though I’m being left behind in the keep. Trapped even._

_Remember how I told you that I was eager to leave the palace after the Defiance? I still feel the same. Marriage has always been my way out. If there’s anything the Duskendale incident and Mother’s death has taught me, it’s that I want to see more of this known world we have. To feel and learn and experience more._

_More’s the pity, I may have just dampened your spirits with this talk. I’m sorry. This should be an eventful day for you! Drink wine or ale or mead or possibly all, and do have long and random talks with your new brothers. Laugh as often with them if you could. I wish that for you._

_Your song has begun, Jon. I hoped to hear more of it in the future._

_Signed,_

_Sansa of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms_

 

#

 

 

 _Here I stand still_ , more a play in words for Sansa as her life in the Red Keep was at a dead stop despite the goings on in the capital, while she stood in front of the full looking glass, appraising her dress. Shae helped her into a gown of a thinly cut sky blue silk lined with black satin. Long dagged sleeves almost touch the gown and the bodice was slashed just about the belly, its deep vee cut was covered by a panel of ornate Myrish lace in midnight blue. The skirts were long and full and tied to her waist tightly. It was clearly a gown meant for a woman, not a girl. And the princess was that, having been recently flowered.

She was dressed for a private occasion, her lord father wishing for her presence in the king’s bedchambers. With almost three years of ignoring her existence after Mother’s death, the timing of his summons was fraught with peril, something the princess had sought a reason, to no avail. _Though it has been like that since the Defiance_ , Sansa reminded herself. Part of why she felt caged in the palace was due to Father’s purple eyes that always looked piercing whenever she met his gaze, as if she’s being judged the way he did to Lady Serala and the rest of the Darklyns. She wanted an escape from those judging, suspicious eyes. Mother’s death only heightened her fevered mind, which resulted to her and her brother Rhaegar’s first ever quarrel then. Him not understanding her need to _just go_ , even if that meant being whisked away to some lordling’s House as a wife, and her not being able to communicate fully what’s on her mind, as she herself didn’t entirely comprehend her whys and wherefores. In the two years and a half that followed though, with Father actively shutting her out (from family meals, from the weekly attendance to the Great Sept to hear of the High Septon’s sermons, from the feasts and tourneys and royal trips), it allowed Sansa a time to breathe and a time to properly mourn Mother. She had the time to learn herself anew from the incidents she had suffered and she’s learned that her newfound restlessness in the palace was due to almost everyone finding their own place in the known world, while she’s wedged in the Red Keep. _My station in life allows for me to marry according to the crown’s wishes. It’s what’s expected of me, and if I don’t fulfill my purpose, what am I?_

The creases on her brows prompted for her handmaiden to comment, attuned somehow with some of her thoughts from all the time they’ve spent together, “Mayhaps it hurt him to look at you, princess. After all, you grow ever more the same as your lady mother.”

Sansa knew. She’s been told a thousand times already, by Rhaegar, by his wives, by the Queen, by her sister and brother, by her nephew and niece, by everyone at court it would seem. And everyone has a thing or two to say about it. But was it really that? Did the King truly loved his second wife that deeply? That to look at her wound him so? Sansa could never be sure as she’s always regarded her parents’ relationship as nothing more than an accord. There were times that Father showed fondness over Mother but she in return always held the king at a respectable distance—always doing her duty but never showing affection, if she’s being honest. And she’s learned to be honest about herself, not looking at her life as beautiful, perfect songs her young and naïve mind once pictured.

“Mayhaps,” was all she said to Shae.

The princess walked then to Lady who was lying on her bed to comb her grey furs and to remind her wolf to stay put in her chambers. She remembered how Father didn’t like to be around her pet and she didn’t want to cause any tension between them two now that she’s been specifically requested by him.

Sansa saw Ser Gerold waiting for her as she walked out of her room. She greeted the old knight and the man’s hard and lined face turned soft as he let slip a small smile to acknowledge her.

“I’m to escort you to the King’s solar, princess.”

Sansa nodded at that and followed him. Once the princess found herself inside her lord father’s chambers and saw him sitting on a chair opposite a round table, she immediately curtseyed to him.

The king acknowledged her with a curt nod, and gestured for her to come join him by the table. He then proceeded to dismiss Ser Gerold and two of his servants. A meal for two was arranged on the table. The princess took a sip from her goblet of sweet wine for her throat was dry with dread. When Father offered to share a plate of food with her, Sansa at first thought to politely refuse, but thinking it may unnerve the king, the princess lifted a tiny biscuit ornamented with pâte in the shape of fish, and set it between her lips.

“It was one of your lady mother’s favorites, wasn’t it?” King Aerys asked Sansa, pointing to the biscuits with his right hand currently holding a cup of arbor gold.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Her lord father casted his eyes down as he swirled his cup. “You must think badly of me, neglecting you after the Lady Catelyn’s death.”

“—I,” and Sansa did not know how to continue, surprised at the directness of Father’s speech.

“You can speak the truth to me, child,” prompted the king, his purple eyes still fixed on his cup.

Sansa forced herself to look at her monarch when she replied, “I understand that we mourn in different ways, Your Grace. I can never begrudge you of yours.”

Father looked up from his cup to examine the princess’ face. “You’ve grown since last I saw you. Both in body and in mind.” He finally set down his wine and laid both his hands flat on either side of his plate. “And it’s true you are a spitting image of your mother. I hear you’ve recently been flowered as well.”

Sansa set her spoon down, afraid that she’d make a noise for the said utensil inadvertently slipping away from her grasp. Her lord father’s words were making her feel weak for some reason.

“I know these things and more. My council seems to forget I still have my head with me. And I’ve been thinking a lot these days,” the king went on with a wry smile on his cracked red lips.

The princess suppressed a shudder as she brought down her hands to her lap, wringing them as she held her lord father’s gaze.

“Political matches, mostly,” the king supplied. His bony fingers now tearing his white bread into smaller chunks and onto his plate full of dried dates and figs. “Rhaegar can marry off his brood for alliances, but Daenerys will be married to Viserys to preserve our Targaryen blood. You my child, I have yet to decide what action to take. You are, after all, my youngest.”

Sansa gripped her hands tightly, pronouncing in what she hoped to be an even voice, “My life is but to serve you, Your Grace. I’d gladly do as you bid me to.”

King Aerys smiled graciously at her, and for a beat Sansa asked herself if her unease with him was unwarranted after all. “Just as well, princess. You’d do well to remember your own words when I announce to court your own marriage.”

 _With no betrothal at all_? Has there even prior cases the same as hers? The princess felt her brows furrowed as she wondered as to whom her lord father intended for her to marry, and what scheme laid with it.

“Eat,” Father nodded at Sansa’s untouched plate. “Your king bids you to,” and he smiled again, his purple eyes narrowing as he did.

As the large wooden doors opened to release her from Father’s solar, she was met by Egg’s agitated face, evidently waiting for her outside the King’s chambers. It took all of Sansa’s strength not to run towards him and cry out in relief. It would only rouse his tense demeanor and what could she ever say as an explanation without others telling her she’s unhinged? After all, Father only told her she’ll be married off, if not sooner. And hasn’t that been what she wanted for years now?

The prince inclined his head to ask, “All right?”

Sansa did not trust herself to speak so she forced herself a smile instead.

Egg’s lips twisted down at that and for a beat he looked to push her to say what’s clearly on her mind but he dropped it after long contemplation and instead said, “It’s a lovely day outside. A pity if we don’t flaunt that lovely dress of yours. Shall we?”

“Please,” Sansa answered, latching onto his outstretched arm as if it was a lifeline.

 

***

 

The princess strolled down the hallway of the Holdfast heading for the Queen’s Ballroom, juggling five books in various thickness. She’d politely declined Ser Jaime’s offer of help, saying she didn’t want to bother him from his duties and was about to round a corner when she caught a glimpse of silver hair from the corner of her eyes. Extending her neck to the gardens outside, she saw her sister Dany and her nephew Egg hiding in the tall bushes spying someone further ahead; their silver hair shining in the bright afternoon were a dead giveaway. She then decided to place the books over a windowsill and snuck up to the two from behind and when she got close, poked each of their ribs to get their attention. Dany whipped her head to her in shock while Egg stood straight as a lance. Sansa was just about to giggle when Egg clamped his hand to her mouth to keep it close.

“It’s Viserys, sister. He’ll throw a murderous fit if he knew we’re watching.” Dany whispered to her ear, having recovered from being startled.

“He didn’t notice, did he?” Egg whispered back.

“He didn’t. He’s much too engaged at the moment.” And there was just something that tickled Dany’s voice as she said those words that prompted Sansa to shake her head in Egg’s grasp to get a better view of what her brother was up to.

Amongst the little spaces in between that the bushes provided, Sansa saw her brother kissing the Lady Arianne. There was no mistaking her thick black hair in ringlets, olive skin and that tinkling throaty laugh she was making as Viserys placed open mouthed kisses on her jaw and down to her neck. Sansa felt rigid and warm at once, feeling an intruder to have witnessed such an intimate scene. She bit Egg’s hand purposefully for him to release her from his grip as she backed away from the bushes.

“That wasn’t very ladylike at all,” Egg hissed, wiping his wet palm on his satin doublet.

“I can’t believe you two!” the princess shot back, careful to keep her voice low lest the two apparent lovebirds overhear them from their spot.

Her sister Dany flashed a wicked smile, completely unapologetic. “We’re just here to confirm if the new court gossip was true.”

Sansa turned on her heel and went back inside the connecting hallway to gather her books, already wanting to distance herself from what’s happening in the gardens but couldn’t help but voice out her question to her sister who retreated with her, “Which was?”

“That Vis and Arianne’s betrothal is in jeopardy.”

“And clearly it’s not. Since they’re completely frolicking out in the open in broad daylight,” Egg remarked as he too joined them in walking back to the hall, “Makes you think they’d want for others to know that their affair continues.”

“A very efficient way to squash those rumors,” Dany agreed.

“Sorry for subjecting your maiden eyes to such a scandalous sight,” Egg teased as he bumped his elbow to Sansa’s.

The princess huffed indignantly as she claimed back the books on the windowsill. “They’re promised to each other. And I’m hardly a prude to be offended about such things. Not when ladies in the sewing circle gossip about who’s kissing who, all the time.”

Dany chuckled as a confirmation of her statement. “But why are you still blushing red as your hair, sister?” The silver haired princess ribbed.

“It’s the kiss, no doubt. It may have set our princess’ pure heart abuzz!” Egg exclaimed as he snatched three books from Sansa’s arm to help her with them, examining the books’ titles from their spines. “Well, it’s not like Sansa’s had any desires to do so. Remember how she refused our game of practicing kissing back then?”

Her nephew may not have intended it, but it’s in the way he had said his last statement, somehow accusatory and condescending that made Sansa’s nostril flare up as she raised her chin to blurt, “I did so!”

“To the knights in your songs?”

Oh, Egg was treating her still as a child alright. The princess snatched back the books in Egg’s arms and held them to her chest as she replied, “To a knight, yes. But to a living, breathing one.”

And Sansa stalked off, opting to run away for if her sister and nephew pressed anymore, she’ll be cornered into revealing a secret she’s kept for many moons now (she’s never been too hot at lying to either of them)—one that involved a certain grey-eyed, long faced prince.

 

***

 

_To Sansa of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms_

_Thank you for your kind words. I’m still reeling when people call me ‘Ser Jon,’ princess, but it’s a title I will forever have to earn and that’s comforting for me._

_I have received your gift yesterday. The pennon is exquisite. Your stitches were even and nice and I daresay it’s a subject of envy amongst my brothers. I’m teased a lot and I don't care the least bit. I love it Sansa._

_Ghost is massive now too. I laugh at the idea of lords and ladies scrambling to get away from Lady when she has such a gentle soul. My wolf though, is striking even though he’s a silent beast and it’s his eyes that sets fear to nobles and smallfolk alike. I may get a sobriquet because of him soon, like Ser Jon the White Wolf (I didn’t come up with that one if you’re asking). If you have any suggestions though, I’m all ears._

_And I agree that everything’s changed since our first meeting, Sansa. I’m only saddened that you’ve experienced so many heartaches at such a young age. Uncle Ned told me that we’d do best to endure what’s thrown our way and rise above stronger and wiser. That is my wish for you._

_Though I don’t know how to help you, being stuck in the capital. After all these years, won’t the King permit you to be Mother’s handmaiden still? Or any other noble lady if he sees Mother unfit (as he’s been wont to do)._

_Would that I could, set us two on a trip to Essos. I hear Dany’s been frequenting that side of the known world of late. Mayhaps ask her for a travel agenda for a fortnight? A moon’s turn? I’m at your mercy, princess._

_And know you can talk all sorts of things with me Sansa. All manner of things._

_I had hoped to be your confidant and best friend._

_Signed,_

_Ser_ _Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

 

 

#

 

 

“Gyles started it,” Landon Pryor spat as he gingerly massaged the large bruise under his right eye.

“No, you started it!” Gyles Grafton shot back, and then winced from the pain of his cut upper lip.

“This is all Ricker’s fault!” howled Terrance Lynderly, clutching his broken nose as fresh dribble of blood oozed from it.

“How was it mine, when I’m just stopping this bloody stupidity from going on longer?” roared Ricker Sunderland, blue eyes flashing as he rose from his seat; his usually neatly combed cropped hair in every which way.

Ser Ossifer Lipps, a large, grizzled knight with a round belly pushed Ricker back in his seat with a grunt.

“Just admit that we lost to the prince, Hyde,” groaned Hunter, as his twin cleaned the cut from his wrist with a wet cloth.

“Maybe you. I didn’t get to say yield yet—”

“Because my elbow’s on your mouth?” Jon couldn’t help but retort.

“Enough!” Ser Ossifer bellowed, a hand crept up to the bridge of his nose to pinch it.

“So let me get this straight,” said Ser Uther Shett, a skinny, ginger-haired man with a face covered in pimples (which he has always attempted to hide behind whiskers to no avail),  “Terrance fought Ricker for breaking up a fight between Gyles and Landon, who argued how the fight amongst Hunter, Hyde and Jon ended?”

“As I’ve explained earlier,” soft-spoken Domeric Bolton answered. The only one amongst their group who had a good sense not to engage himself in a duel amongst his brothers.

Ser Ossifer rounded the long bench that the eight young knights were seated on, looking grim as he judged the sight before him. “All these just for a pennon,” he said as he gritted his teeth. “Brawling like common brigands!”

 _It’s not ‘just a pennon,’_ Jon would have liked to interject but the soreness of his jaw from Hunter’s clean jab wouldn’t allow him to speak up anymore. So he just directed a glare to the ash-blonde knight who met it with a sheepish grin. His twin Hyde who was sitting next to him just rolled his hazel eyes.

The prince heard Ser Uther sigh and when he looked up at them he saw the ginger-haired knight exchange a nod with Ser Ossifer.

The latter knight folded his arms and laid down his sentence, “Although a good drop of blood and few head-butting is a sure way to become closer comrades-in-arms, I will not have you lot squabbling over a piece of cloth. Go to your rooms and see to your wounds. But make no mistake of going down for supper. There’ll be none served for you eight for this night. Consider that a light punishment for this sort of foolishness.”

The young knights went to their chambers dejectedly, a prospect of no food after expending their energy from fighting has led them to drag their feet along the winding stairs and halls of Breakwater Castle, where they’ve been staying close to a week. Part of the training of the newly inducted knights of the Vale was to travel and familiarize themselves of the said land’s borders and regions, immersing themselves in various ways of living of the Valemen. Such experience should teach them how best to care for the smallfolk from rebellious mountain clans, ironmen and pirates and how each sworn houses to the Vale operate within their own dominion. So far, Jon learned that a town located on Sweetsister (where the castle stood) was home to the most notorious smugglers in Westeros, that by that town’s gates called the _Gallows Gate_ there were always hanged men with their entrails dangling out, and that his brothers were eager for a fight for the young green boys that they were.

Soon as Landon closed the door to the castle’s gallery that was turned as a temporary chamber fit for nine young men, the silence within the group immediately broke, as if the spell casted on them by Ser Ossifer’s punishment was lifted.

“No supper!”

“Did they renounce our bath rights, or was that just me?”

“I’m so fucking hungry, I can die.”

“There’s blood and snot oozing from your nose.”

“Piss off!”

“My tunic now has four holes!”

“Anyone wants for their cuts and bruises tended to, get in line,” Domeric announced. Terrance, Gyles and Landon jumped at the offer and trailed after the Dreadfort heir as he went to his side of the room and rummaged through his leather travel bag to procure salves and ointments, they all knew he was keeping being the thoughtful and thorough young man that he was.

Ricker, Hunter and Hyde chose to lie down on their mattresses stuffed with wool to rest instead. As the twins plopped down, they groaned and whimpered in unison, long and hard, as if they’ve done a day’s worth of hard work in the farms. Jon managed a small smile at the spectacle, a little pleased at the knowledge that he dealt them some good beating in comparison for the blows he has received.

His ribs and jaw were still aching as he mulled over if he’s going to wash himself, eyeing the basin and pitcher of water on the table next to his bed or just go straight into changing into a clean tunic when he heard a soft knock on the door.

The prince saw Hyde raised his head, having noticed the sound coming from the door. His bed being the closest to it, it has been a silent agreement amongst the brothers that the youngest of the Ruthermonts was tasked with opening it.

The said youth though shook his head and whined, “No! Nobody can pry me from this bed! I feel so heavy. My body’s so heavy! And this bed’s so soft and nice and warm,” and the young man proceeded to bury his head amongst the sheets.

“Seconded!” Hunter barked as he threw his blanket over his body.

“Fine, I’ll get it,” Jon reluctantly conceded, seeing as his bed was the third next closest to the door. He went to the door and found Lady Gella’s homely face on the other side as he opened it, smiling timidly at him and holding a box full of bottles of unguents and balms.

“For your wounds,” she piped and suddenly thrusted the box to Jon’s arms.

“You are most gracious, my lady. Thank you for these.”

“It’s of no consequence. I can come inside and help you dress your wounds.” The lady inclined her head to the space Jon allowed and no doubt saw his companions inside, judging from the widening of her grin.

“No need to trouble yourself, my lady. They’re only scrapes.” And Jon controlled himself from snickering when he heard Hunter and Hyde’s indignant noises from their beds.

Lady Gella’s smile fell at once. A narrow line of worry appeared between her thin brows. “But—”

“Really, we’re fine. We have Domeric who can put a few maesters to shame. Thank you for your concern though but we can’t presume too much on your hospitality.”

The lady pressed her lips but agreed in the end, “If… you say so.”

Jon nodded at her and then closed the door as she left. There was a collective groan from his brothers as soon as the door was barred.

“And he does it again!” Gyles exclaimed, wincing from the pressure he subjected his cut upper lips in doing so. Domeric, who was dabbing at the broken lip of the youngest son of Lord Gerold Grafton, allowed himself a small smirk which he directed to Jon.

“What?”

Hunter has now rose to a half-sitting position on his bed as he explained, “Says their names are pretty, and distances himself the next!”

The prince’s brows furrowed. _What in the seven hells?_

“He’s truly a Stark, rejecting a lady with such coldness,” Ricker added.

“I… I was only being polite and honest,” and Jon dismayed at how his voice sounded defensive. “We’ve no need of her when we’ve got Domeric here!”

A few of his brothers chuckled, while others snorted. Terrance was the one who piped up next with, “It’s not a matter of needing her, my prince. It’s about her _wanting_ to help you.”

 _And what difference does it make?_ Jon’s head hissed but instead his lips said aloud, “I don’t want to talk of this matter anymore.” And then turned his back from his brothers as he walked towards the table stand, deciding to wash himself from sweat and dirt.

Another moment and all eight of them heard thumping, this time coming from one of the windows of the gallery. Landon opened it with a boisterous laugh and the next they saw a large sack was thrown inside which landed on the woven rushes, and a hand waving at them.

“Stop laughing you git, and start helping me up!” the voice from outside yelled.

“If you ask nicely,” taunted Landon, crossing his arms to his chest.

“I just saved all your sorry asses, and bellies from hunger tonight, so you better help me up you git!” answered the voice that Jon now recognized to be Harry’s. The only one missing from the fight that broke out in the practice yard of the castle, as he was busy escorting one of Lord Godric Borrell’s granddaughters to Sisterton to buy some silk and preserves.

“It’s true! There are loaves of bread and cheeses in here!” cried Ricker who was crouching down the sack, currently inspecting its contents with childish glee and neatly arranging them on the woven rushes. “He even brought two bottles of wine, good gods!”

“Alright, alright!” placated Landon as he went over the window’s ledge to heave Harry who was sure to be dangling two storeys high.

Harry the Heir, sometimes known as Young Falcon, tumbled ungallantly inside the room. Rubbing his hands that were sure to be raw from climbing the stone walls of the castle he asked, “So, fill me up on what I’ve missed!”

“Jon being Jon,” Hunter and Hyde declared in unison.

“It’s about a lady then,” Harry somewhat correctly guessed as Jon huffed, feeling his cheeks warm at the insinuation. “And the fight?”

“We’ve set a contest to claim Jon’s Valyrian dagger, us Ruthermonts against him,” Hunter explained whilst combing his shoulder-length hair with his hands and arranging it into one neat plait.

Harry raised a brow, “A two on one fight?”

“Jon’s the best swordsman out of all of us. Domeric comes close if you could tear him away from his books,” stated Hyde, jutting his chin out. The only way to tell the twins apart was Hyde’s mole under his lower lip.

Harry bobbed his head as he sat next to Gyles on Domeric’s bed. “And then?”

“I tried to aim for Jon’s pennon, knowing it would rile him so,” Hunter said with a shrug.

“Oh, that’s foul!” hooted Harry, his left hand repeatedly hitting the mattress in the process in his delight. When he stopped he spoke to Jon, his deep blue eyes filled with mirth and tease, “Now it’s about the princess. I hope you gave them hell for it.”

Jon, who caught himself scowling from the retelling of what transpired that afternoon, finally grinned. “Oh, I did. Seven hells in fact.”

Their group descended into laughter for quite a while. After, Ricker motioned for them to gather around the hearth, and to start digging up their small feast.

Domeric sidled to where Jon was sitting on the rushes, his pale cream-colored eyes considering the white cloth tied around the sleeves of Jon’s right upper arm, just above his elbow. “Anything but the pennon, huh?”

Jon lowered his grey eyes to it, looking at the grey direwolf and red dragon, and envisioned in his mind’s eye Sansa: sitting on a chair by the balcony, her sweet face deep in concentration, covered in half by the fall of her red hair as she bent down her head, carefully stitching his personal ensign. Unthinking, he mumbled, “Anything but her.”

 

***

 

_To Ser Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

_I’m in a rush as I write this letter for Uncle Maester’s getting ready sending out the ravens._

_Jon, do you remember those words he used to say to us when we read stories about Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys? That we are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love?_

_I say this now as I have made up my mind after moons of deliberation. In part, Dany’s act (that I’m sure you’ve heard) inspired me as much as Uncle Maester’s words._

_There’s a memory I so cherish for how much it leaves me hopeful and equally hollow and regretful after reminiscing it. Do you remember?_

_That autumn afternoon, the weather cool to the skin, a rare delight for it’s always been hot in the capital. We’re to celebrate Rhaegar’s thirty-seventh nameday in two days and you came down to visit and partake with the festivities. We were in the godswood overlooking Blackwater Rush, just the two of us playing with the strings of my harp. You swore you forgot how to play it from the years you’ve spent in the Vale, choosing swords and bows and military lessons over it. I vowed to help you relearn, claiming your hands in mine to help you recall chords and notes._

_And do you remember? After a while, when we were both laughing from the obvious game you’ve been playing, there was a gust of wind that blew our hairs, and I caught you looking at me strangely._

_I thought I recognized such look, but I wasn’t brave then. I avoided your piercing grey eyes and what you meant to say with them._

_But I welcome it now, Jon! My heart welcomes it._

_Signed,_

_Sansa of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms_

 

 

#

 

_To Sansa of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms_

_Dearest, I do remember._

_You in your pale blue gown and windswept hair, laughing with not a care for courtly manners. It’s absurd by how much longing for you I was gripped._

_I often come back to that warm memory. I wasn’t brave then too, Sansa._

_If I was, I’d surely kiss you, consequences be damned._

_Signed,_

_Ser_ _Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

 

***

 

Sansa squealed in delight to her pillows, having read Jon’s letter for the hundredth time. _He wanted to kiss me, just as I wished he’d do that day._ For all her love of knights, she did fell for one. And though Egg would tease her if he ever found out, saying how she all planned it just so the princess could live like in the songs, Sansa knew that what she’s feeling for Jon was far from a passing fancy nor a childish daydream. The princess couldn’t name the stirrings she felt whilst thinking of Jon and her yearnings as _love_ , not yet at least. All the same, she felt she’s close to it with the grey-eyed knight. They have always had an ease as children that led them to being close, despite growing into young adults leagues away from each other. Jon’s confession only proved that she’s dear to him, as was he to her. It felt magical, somehow, how all it took was a _look_ and their bond has changed forever. Though the rational part of Sansa chastised such thinking, more inclined to suppose that such affection they had for each other grew into something more as seasons changed. (And there had been tell-tale signs, hadn’t there? Sansa advising Jon to always be at polite distances when he’s around ladies both high and lowborn, fearing that if he got close with others he may come to fancy them; Jon stewing in silence whenever Sansa talks of getting married to an unknown lordling; Sansa reading the letters Jon sends to his siblings and Dany, loathe to find if there are things he’s keeping from her, and rejoicing when she learns there are things only Jon confides to her; Jon seemingly choosing her over his lady mother—only, that was one time, and Lady Lyanna never let Jon lived it down—when he snuck to the Riverrun castle to see Sansa and her alone, when he hasn’t seen his own mother in years).

Nevertheless, the princess was glad that Father hasn’t yet announced her marriage. Might be she could sway him into thinking that Jon was a more suitable match than whoever he’s planning to bind her to. _Highly unlikely_ , said a voice in her head. Feet entangling with the silk sheets, Sansa squirmed in her bed for how right that voice was. Her lord father has never warmed up to Jon, and he never will. Lady, who was lying down at the foot of her bed gave out a low whine as she raised her grey head to gaze up at her person’s face. She sent her direwolf a smile, and when her eyes chanced upon her vanity and the full looking glass next to it, she saw a silhouette of a man. The princess immediately rose and whipped her head to see King Aerys inside her bedchambers.

“…Your Grace?”

The king walked to her bed then, jaw clenched and the princess was beset by his purple eyes filled with cold anger.

“Your Grace?” Sansa repeated as she climbed out of her bed, careful to wrap her shift tightly around her body, beginning to feel gooseflesh all over. “M—Might I know why you’re here?”

The princess’ lord father paced as he went on rambling, “I spoke to your brother Rhaegar this afternoon. The _squids_ have risen to rebellion. Not even a moon’s turn and we hear your sister ran off and eloped with a sellsword in Braavos!” Father paused to sneer at Sansa, “Daenerys finished what her lady mother failed to accomplish with that Hasty knight.”

And Sansa was reminded how the king dealt with that particular news, ordering for Queen Rhaella to answer for her daughter’s waywardness in the throne room, humiliating her in front of the entire court. Her brother Rhaegar stood up for her lady mother whilst Viserys stood by their king’s words. That day was sure to be writ in their history books as the two princes got too close to a fist fight with all the nobles watching as if it was a circus display, blood sure to be spilled in front of the iron throne if not for the Dornish women, Crown Princess Elia and Princess Arianne’s, intervention.

“I spoke to your brother Rhaegar this afternoon,” King Aerys repeated his preamble. “He’d been too lenient on running my kingdoms. If I haven’t joined their meeting today I wouldn’t have known that they have been conferring your marriage. Planning to sell you off to those kraken scums!”

The princess felt like she’s been jolted awake. She hasn’t heard any word of it from Rhaegar. And her brother always promised that she’d be the first to know if the Small Council ever started considering offers for her hand. Now, she’s to wed to an ironborn lord?

Her lord father must have seen something in Sansa’s eyes as he nodded his head to her, lips curled in an unkind smile. “Disappointed? Thought you could have a say in your future? Mayhaps being promised to that knight my son spawned with the Stark whore?”

Father’s words ran deep and cut true. Sansa was shaking now and her hands clutched tightly to her night gown, unable to look away as the king began to stand before her.

“Everyone seems to think I’ve gone halfwit after the Defiace. If anything, a veil has been lifted from eyes. You see my child, everyone’s a liar here. Serving me whilst serving their own interests. So long as I am king though, I can do whatever I please.”

King Aerys seized the princess’ hands, his touch bruising to the skin. “And I never want to part from you, my sweet. As king, I can reject any offers of marriage for you just so I could keep you by my side. Daenerys and Viserys’ union was meant to preserve our Targaryen lineage. And if Viserys doesn’t want to take you, then I shall.”

 _What? What did Father say?_ His purple eyes bore to her as Sansa’s knees began to weaken at the implication of his words, how irrational and mad they sound. _He wants to marry me?_ The princess tried to take a step back from her lord father but his hold on her was tight.

“Please… Your Grace,” Sansa whimpered. She then felt Lady’s back quivered and only then heard that her wolf has been snarling at the king. Lady, her sweet and gentle direwolf, who never snapped at anyone ever, was now on the edge of the bed close to where Sansa was standing, baring her sharp teeth at their monarch.

The princess saw Father reached for Lady to keep her snarling face well away from him. But in a blink, Lady leapt towards him and sank her teeth into his wrist.

Panic whispered to Sansa, murmuring, babbling, and crooning until it shouted, screeched and shrieked. The princess’ mouth was opened but no sound emerged. It was the king who screamed in pain.

 

 

#

 

 

“Ow, ow, ow, o—”

“Stop whining for gods’ sake!”

Harry cocked a brow at Jon. “I fought those bastards for you.”

“I did not ask you to,” the prince answered as he carefully enfolded a woolen cloth around the Young Falcon’s elbow to fashion a sling for his broken arm.

“You need not ask, Jon.”

“And look where it got you! I told you I was fine. We are sent here to broker deals with the Knights of the Hollow Hill, not to pick a fight with them.”

“They had it coming when they said you’re bound to become mad just like the king.”

The prince’s chest tightened at that. Rumors of the king’s mental health had been spreading over the past years due to his bed-ridden state after the Defiance, saying he never fully recovered from it. Jon thought it died down when he started attending meetings with his Small Council and holding court for a few days, but it only amplified when the ironmen declared rebellion against the crown to restore the Old Way, and his Aunt Dany’s decision to break her betrothal to Viserys by running off with a mercenary, the king resorting to punish the queen for their daughter’s “perceived crimes” by making her walk through a path of burning coals, and issuing unreasonable raise on taxes to build fleets that would counter the ironmen’s naval supremacy. There had also been talks of another Dance of the Dragons as Father’s succession was being questioned by both the king and his Uncle Viserys. Such unrest in the capital gave rise to outlaws in the Crownlands and Riverlands, one that Lord Arryn hoped to quell by sending knights of the Vale to the said lands and forge alliance with the knights of the Hollow Hill, in exchange for their help with the ironborns raiding towns near the coasts and ports.

“More like implied. But I equally have wolf-blood in me. I should like to think that’s enough to temper the dragon blood.” Jon then stared at his cousin resolutely. “Harry, you know I’m grateful of you. I always am. But you cannot think of me as a green boy still. We are knights. We should know better to become riled from taunts.”

“That wasn’t the case when _I_ stopped you from fighting a score of men when you stood up for the eldest son of Lord Tarly.”

“That was different.”

“Maybe so. I just hate how you are quick to defend others but not your own person,” and the young knight stood from his seat to grab a tankard of ale across the long table, with his good hand.

“It wasn’t the vow I made,” and Jon managed a wan smile.

Harry rolled his pale blue eyes and nodded his head as he took a sip from his cup. “Alright. I hear you. I shall make amends with Likely Luke, Notch and Mudge—oh what blasted names those knights have!”

Jon patted Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you. I believe they’re waiting for us in the Hall with the Redforts and Ser Symond, to hash out the details of the pact. You should remember to apologize to Ser Dondarrion as well. And to the Lady Hayford.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The prince only shook his head, spying the open road from one of the long windows of the corridor. Hayford, the seat of House Hayford in the Crownlands where knights of the Vale and knights of the Hollow Hill agreed to meet, was only half a day’s ride north of Kings’ Landing. And Jon wondered if he could ask Ser Symond Templeton and Lord Redfort for a detour once they have settled the deal with the Brotherhood without Banners, to visit the Red Keep and make certain if the rumors were indeed true.

 

***

_Unfinished letter of the Princess Sansa:_

_To Ser Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

_I write to you not knowing if I can ever bring myself to finish the letter for my heart is breaking still… Father… I don’t know him anymore, Jon._

_I ignored whispers of madness about him from courtiers for I know better than to trust rumors. But to witness it with mine own eyes. To hear him threaten me if I ever say a word against him. Lady, dying in vain, when all she did was to save me from Father’s unwanted touches._

_And gods above he’s taken liberties with me, Jon._

_I am soiled. I feel unworthy of you. I don’t know if I could ever face you again._

#

 

 

Shae had come in quietly, made up the fire while the princess slept and taken away the supper she had not touched. There was water that had been hot but was still warm in a basin with fresh towels laid out beside her, and a fresh silk dressing-gown was laid over the back of a chair. Sansa forced herself to clean up, biting her lips in order to hinder herself from crying aloud, willing for unwanted memories not to resurface—of forced kisses, blows to her body that would not be seen by the cuts of her gowns, and Father’s cracked lips and sharp sharp eyes.

The princess rubbed herself raw, determined to wash away the feel of unwelcomed hands on her body. A part of her died when Lady was put to sword by Father’s orders. And she was dying a little in the keep that used to be a place of warm memories, every night that her lord father sought to claim her in a way fathers ought not do. Sansa avoided to look herself in the looking glass. She feared she wouldn’t recognize herself if she did.

She wrapped herself in the white silk, plainly cut but richly embroidered around collar and sleeves, and felt herself wanting to retch. The dress was new and well-tailored. _It’s such a pure gown unlike me._

Her handmaiden appeared later to help her with her hair. “Your Grace’s presence is requested in the King’s chambers. At once.”

Sansa nodded, willing for her mind to go blank. It would serve no purpose to think anymore. A lot has been taken from her. She’s only a puppet with strings in a tangle.

“My L—Lady Sansa?”

The princess casted her eyes down. She’s avoided having to converse with other people since Lady’s death. Having been confined to the Maidenvault as the king and Viserys’ hostage so that Rhaegar would not do anything reckless, only provided an isolated place for the king’s cruelties’ against her to go unnoticed. There was an odd siege that’s been going on in the palace for nearly a moon now, where half of its household was torn between two factions: the _reds_ pertained to Rhaegar’s party and council, and the _blacks_ , pertained to the king and Viserys’. They were currently in a stalemate all because of the king and Viserys’ hold on her, threatening to kill her should Rhaegar persist with his rebellion.

And Shae has always respected Sansa’s decision since she did not want to put her maid into harm. What could be so different now for her to pose a question when she didn’t wish to speak anymore? Her pleas had been unheard, after all.

Sansa kept her mouth shut and casted her eyes down. She heard her handmaiden release a stifled sob and said, “I’ve been a bad maid. Take this, and let me make amends.”

Shae went to kneel in front of her and thrusted a small dagger to her right sleeve. Her dark eyes were demanding as she said, “Think only of yourself, princess. If the King tried anything, anything at all—think of yourself and defend.”

And Shae went out of her bedchambers without so much as a backward glance. The princess could feel her dead heart beat once again at the feel of the cold steel hidden inside her wrist. Later, the princess found herself being escorted to her lord father’s solar by unknown knights that her brother Viserys employed when all of the Kingsguard allied themselves with the Crown Prince Rhaegar. There she attended to his needs, as one would attend her lord husband’s.

Sansa has always been afraid of dragons, their skulls and bones littering the throne room. But now, her childish monsters take the form of his lord father. The king moved above her, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he touched and cup a feel and squeezed—for the searing heat of Father’s hands which burnt into her like brands, she could not allow for others to get hurt anymore because of him. More so for her to be hurt anymore. _Think of yourself and defend_ , Shae’s words echoed inside Sansa’s head as she gripped the small dagger that she hid whilst lying on her back as her lord father undressed her. _You cannot let a monster win anymore. Sansa, you cannot!_ Heart pounding so hard, the princess then plunged the blade straight to Father’s neck.

Sansa watched as the king opened his purple eyes in agony and shock as he coughed up blood. It ran down her throat and her breasts. _As was Lady Serala before me. Fire and blood._

King Aerys’ hands raised to try and clutch his bleeding neck but one moment his eyes were burning bright, the next they turned dark and dull. His body then fell to the bed, lifeless.

And the dam broke as Sansa began to wail. She’d cried for the girl she had been, and cried for the girl she’s become. She’d cried for her father, and cried for the tragedy that befell her family. _I am kingslayer. A kinslayer on top of that._ The princess heard angry shouts outside the king’s chambers. There was a clash of steel on steel. _Quickly! If I’m going to die, let it happen while there’s still some of me left._ After all, death was the only punishment for her act.

“Sansa!”

Through her tears, she saw Egg and Ser Arthur enter inside. They too, were covered in blood and sweat.

“I—I…” How does one go about telling someone that you’ve killed your own father?

“Get a hold of yourself,” Egg said as he wrapped his long arms around Sansa’s frame. “Get a hold of yourself.” The prince began to chant. The princess wasn’t sure if he was saying it to her or to himself, as they were both visibly shaking.

 

***

_Unread letter of the Prince Jon:_

_To Sansa of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms_

_Dearest, I have not heard from you in a moon._

_I missed you. Mayhaps the unrest in the capital has kept you from penning letters?_

_Since there are no ravens flying out from the Red Keep, I’m just anxious to hear word of what’s going on down there, for all I could gather are gossips. For one, that Uncle Vis demanded you to be married to him, and that Father refused it because he wants for you to marry into House Baratheon to gain their support in a civil war between him and Uncle Vis. And that lord grandfather refused such match because your betrothed’s namesake was once a traitor to the crown._

_And you very well know how much I hate these kind of talks._

_I’m going to the capital, Sansa. Wait for me so I could whisk you away from this madness._

_Signed,_

_Ser_ _Jon of House Stark, Prince of Dragonstone_

 

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And hello to the new readers!  
> 2\. Ah, I'm so anxious to hear you guys' thoughts on this chapter. Our story finally moved forward! Questions, comments, violent reactions? Sound them off in the comment section. I love reading them ^^  
> 3\. And I've been meaning to write a few Jon/Sansa oneshots so if you have any prompts, please head to my tumblr account: http://ficklejam.tumblr.com/ and PM me or send an ask with your prompt in it? Or if you just want to talk about my fic there, or fangirl with me about Jon/Sansa, you could totally do that as well :)  
> 4\. I may come back at this tomorrow and check for grammar issues etc.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! A happy new year to all~~! ^^  
> I apologize for my turtle pace working on this fic (I couldn't seem to find a balance with work and studies, plus writing fics for my many fandoms, so I'm only able to do so when it's my semestral break). So here are the fruits of my holiday labors. Cheers! \o/

"This cowboy's running from himself

and she's been living on the highest shelf."

 

 

“I—I just want it all t—to end, Egg. I just want it all to end.”

“Hush now, dearest,” her nephew urged as he pulled the silk sheets to wipe off the king’s blood that clung on her skin.

“Jon…” and Sansa took a deep breath before continuing, feeling as if she’s out of her body as she watched her nephew clean her naked form, “He told me once of his uncle’s saying… that if one should take a man’s life, that person owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And I—I stabbed Father… and watched him die… Jon’s uncle said if one cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die… And yet Egg! I watched until light has gone out of Father’s eyes!”

Said prince bore his own Targaryen eyes to her, resolute and full of understanding that it broke Sansa’s heart all the more. She didn’t deserve his understanding. She should be judged, scorned and be rejected!

Sansa shook her head in distress and the prince stopped her actions by pulling and cradling her face to him.

“Listen. Listen to me, Sansa. You did what you had to do,” he said to her. “I’m prepared to do the same had I arrived earlier… if only I had…” and Egg’s voice croaked in cold anger.

“No!” she argued at once. “Egg, you listen to me. T—this is all… wrong. A kingslayer. _Kinslayer_! I’m all that—”

It was Egg’s turn to shake his head as he reached for the dagger buried in his lord grandfather’s neck, pulled it and placed it in his sword belt. The prince turned to the Sword of the Morning and the two of them shared a long look until Ser Arthur casted his eyes down and hunched in on himself as he murmured, “We don’t have much time, my prince.”

“I have decided,” Egg said aloud as he turned back to Sansa. “From this day forward, this will be our secret.”

“Egg…? What a—are you saying?”

Said prince cupped Sansa’s face again in his hands, now tenderly, his thumbs rubbing the apples of her cheeks, wet with tears. “I’m saying I killed the King. I’m saying I’m sorry this happened to you. How sorry I am for coming so late! I never should have listened to Father and his advisors to wait for more time. I’m saying that this is the only way I could protect you. Please, Sansa.”

“No, no!” The princess cried out. “I can’t… I can’t let you do this! I’m the murderer. I should be punished. I should be put to death. I should—”

Egg hugged her then and seemed to cry as well as his voice broke some more while declaring, “Don’t ever say that, Sansa! Please don’t even think it. I—gods! I love you. I love you too much. I don’t want a world without you in it.”

If even possible, that confession only left Sansa’s heart more crushed. She didn’t deserve Egg’s love, much less anyone’s… after what has happened to her and what she has become, not even Jon’s… _oh_ , the princess could not think it without breaking her heart anew.

“Live for me, huh?” Egg then nodded towards the knight at their side. “Go with Ser Arthur.” The prince helped her get up to wrap his cloak around her body.

“Where—?”

“Away from this mad place.” Egg pulled a lever that was hiding behind her vanity and just like before a stone slab opposite it glided slowly upwards, revealing a secret passageway. To Ser Arthur he said, “About what happened in here… you saw nothing. Heard nothing. And would say nothing that wouldn’t please me. Do I have your word, ser?”

The Sword of the Morning genuflect as he responded, “I swear to you by all the Seven, my prince.”

“This is not an order from a prince to his subject, but a plea from one man to another,” Egg then pulled the knight back to his feet. “See Sansa safely to Evenfall.”

“I swear on my life,” the knight answered serenely.

Egg bobbed his head in approval. “Lady Lyanna’s waiting for you two at that place. Quickly, ser!”

The addressed knight nodded and lifted Sansa from her feet just as voices outside the King’s solar seemed to grow closer.

However, Egg’s retreating form and resigned stance to a fate that wasn’t his spurned Sansa into frenzy. “W—wait! This is not right. Ser Arthur please… convince Egg otherwise. Oh, Egg! Egg! Please!” The princess’ vision was already blurred from the onslaught of tears and her frail body still tried to break from the knight’s hold of her, clawing at him and kicking him with her slender legs, her hands reaching for Egg.

“Let me speak to Egg! Please! Please!”

Her hoarse voice must have done the trick when finally Ser Arthur stopped from entering the secret passageway.

The prince looked torn as he eventually walked back towards them. “Growing up, you’ve always worried about me, Sansa. Worrying if I’m taking my lessons, doing my duties, not being a royal pain.” At this, his lips curled in a sad smile. “Don’t worry about me anymore, princess. I know what I’m doing. As Crown Prince of this realm, I have better chances than you. And I will do my duty to my kin, and my beloved—so please trust me that I’ll handle myself well.”

It was only then that Sansa understood that she _had_ to go, for his sake as much as for herself. She realized how she became a burden to everyone in the palace in the last years. Yes, she _must_ go. To Egg she said, “I will… I trust you. But you have to promise me—promise you’d come alive out of this? Live for me as well!”

The silver-haired prince bit his lips and only placed his balled bloody fist on his chest as his oath. That hand, after, reached for the end of Sansa’s plaited hair and kissed it. Outside, the sound of fighting has died down but was replaced by heated discussion and shouts nearing the solar as men try to break down the door of the king’s chambers, so Egg pushed Ser Arthur in haste and parted with them, “Go on, hurry! And don’t look back, Sansa.”

 _If I look back, I am lost_ , those were her sister’s words, what Dany used to tell them when she’s faced with difficult decisions, what Egg’s been echoing now.

 

***

 

As Sansa’s eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by the tapers on the walls, the princess now saw that the secret passageway led them inside a long and narrow gallery filled with suits of armor and various kinds of weapons. There was a shadow that moved from behind one of the suits of armor, and when it strode to them with purpose, the shadowy figure was revealed to be Jon’s mother in a black cloak.

Lady Lyanna hugged them both in greeting. And in hushed voices by the two adults, Sansa deduced that the knight has told the lady that she’s naked underneath her cloak when Lady Lyanna wordlessly guided her to the corner and helped wash her body using what little water the only ewer in the room had. If she’s noticed that Sansa was covered in dried blood, the lady didn’t say anything. Although it might be true that the dimness of the room had masked the truth from her. After, she assisted Sansa in dressing in warm and dark clothes.

“It’s been planned,” the lady finally spoke to her, “That we shall send you away so that Viserys would not be able to use you against the crown or Rhaegar, but our plans have been foiled when you were relocated and imprisoned in the Maidenvault. I am so very sorry things came to this, princess.”

“…or that things have to drag until the opportune time,” the lady added helplessly.

Sansa could not find the words to respond to that and Lady Lyanna has sensed it so she steered their conversation into another direction with, “There’s a ship waiting for us. We’re to travel to the stormlands and—”

To that, however, Sansa has an input, “You will not come with me Lady Lyanna. I trust Ser Arthur to keep me safe.”

“What are you saying, princess?! You are our family. Our blood and kin—”

“I cannot in good conscience impose any more than I did to my brother Rhaegar, to Egg, and to Jon even! I will go wherever you direct me to, but I must go alone. Please.”

“Your Uncle Brynden and Rhaegar has entrusted you to me and to Ser Arthur. This has been the plan, princess.”

“And yet, you are Jon’s lady mother first. You both have endured living away from each other for so long. I must not compromise any Stark and Targaryen relations than I already had. Please, my lady. It’s Jon who needs you now more than ever.”

“I’m not so sure about that anymore,” Lady Lyanna replied with a wistful smile, what Sansa could make out in the dark gallery. It was dim in the room, but the princess knew that the lady was also holding her to measure her countenance, “But is it truly your wish, Sansa?”

“It’s my wish not to be a burden anymore.”

“I know. You can be stubborn when you want to be. You and my brother both. Obedient to a fault but firm in other ways.” For a moment, it seemed that the lady was looking other than Sansa but when Lady Lyanna closed her eyes and opened them a moment later, they were now bright with unshed tears. Immediately, the lady enclosed her in a hug and whispered, “You’ve been brave, princess. Your lady mother would want nothing else. We live in a cruel world, but you’ve always chosen to see the beauty in it. I think that’s one of your strengths. I used to be the same girl as you, you know.”

“What happened to that girl then?”

“To survive, I killed her,” the lady confessed unflinchingly. And Sansa _understood_ what those words really meant. “It may not be the same case for you, but all the same I want you to know, that we all make difficult choices in life.”

There it was again, Dany’s words resonating, _if I look back, I am lost_.

Lady Lyanna pulled Sansa’s hood up and told Ser Arthur that the princess’ ready to go. “Those shoes, though with flat heels, have a hard grip. I’m sure they’ll keep you steady down the stony steps.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything, my lady. If… no, _when_ you see Jon again, please give him all my love.”

The lady’s breath seemed to hitch at that. “You have my word.” She then walked to the Sword of the Morning and kissed him full in the lips. “And you have my heart. Please keep each other safe, Arthur.”

Sansa looked away to give them privacy when she spied the infamous knight held the lady in a very familiar way—something the Sansa of old would thrill to witness, whose head was only filled with romance and songs. After a few moments, she felt Ser Arthur walked to her side and beckoned her to follow him. Her eyes conveyed one final goodbye to Lady Lyanna’s direction and then walked on without looking back. Soon they entered another narrow passageway that Sansa deemed familiar. When Ser Arthur lifted the bar and pulled open the door, cold breeze immediately assaulted them. Yes, this was the secret passage that Rhaenys and the others confided to her on her eight nameday, the cliff overlooking the Blackwater Rush with a well-hidden stony steps to climb down.

“There’s a man at the bottom of the steps, waiting to row us out to the ship, princess.”

Sansa only nodded as she followed suit. At the edge of the cliff, Ser Arthur made sure that the princess see first the handhold cuts into the face of the bluff that she would use to guide herself on the way down.

And it _was_ a long way down. Her knees started to buckle just when the bells began to toll. It was as if it jolted her awake from a long and winding dream. _Ring. ring ring._ Their king was dead. Her father was dead. _By her own hands! By her own doing!_ King Aerys Targaryen was dead and Sansa hoped that the madness within him and the madness he had spread would come with him. Would the Stranger bless her, for having done the god’s work?

Against her wishes, fresh tears poured out of her eyes and the Sword of the Morning placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he pulled her to come down the steps. “We must away, my princess. Quickly and surely now.”

Sansa dared not look down anymore as she began her descent. The stony steps were rough and cold and they were welcome, for Sansa would like to numb herself and temporarily free her heart of guilt and shame and regret—there’s no room for them today if she intended to survive. _Be brave_ , Sansa chanted as the bells continue to ring and her hands tremble while making certain of each step down, before reaching the next. _Be brave_ , she told herself, _like a lady in a song_. And yet, in recent years, her life hasn’t been songlike: with happy melody and enchanting notes. No. It was more a shriek, a screech, and Lady’s howl before she was gutted by Ser Ilyn Payne. As if sensing her inner struggle, Ser Arthur mumbled words of encouragement as he shuffled beneath her and guided her to the dry and secure handholds and footholds, “That’s it. That’s right, princess. Steady now. Follow my pace. We’re very nearly there. A few more steps, yes. Only a few more, princess.”

The ground took Sansa by surprise when finally her feet both touched even surface. Her heart was still pounding when she turned around and saw dirt yards and yards before her, _even_ and safe. Yes, she’s finally down. She made the climb.

Ser Arthur quickly pulled her hand and the both of them half-ran, half-walked, staying close to the shadows that the cliffs of the castle provided, and made their way downriver where a bald old man with long white beard that reached to his chest sat in a small flat-bottomed open boat. The old man greeted them with, “This way! I shan’t hear any noise from you two.”

“It’s alright. No need to be afraid,” Ser Arthur whispered to Sansa’s ears as she pressed his hand to hers in assurance. “The old man’s a former fleet commander in service of House Tully. But you must hide your identity from him.”

Sansa pulled the hood closer to her face in answer.

“Don’t be idle and chat over there as if we’ve got all time. Get in, you two!” the old man barked as he sat hunched over his oars, his bald head littered with dark spots, Sansa could now see. His brown eyes regarded them with annoyance as they boarded the boat.

“Lose the attitude, Lymond, else you won’t get your coin.”

The old man cackled mirthlessly. “Might be you could row yourselves from this river to Blackwater Bay without my help, knight of your stature. But I promise you, the ship taking you to Evenfall won’t go without my word.”

Sansa felt Ser Arthur tensed. He breathed deeply and mumbled amiably, “Forgive me, I’ve had a long day.”

The old oarsman only scrunched his face lined with wrinkles in response, thankfully shut his mouth and kept rowing, distancing themselves from the sound of tolling bells.

Glancing one last time at the Red Keep whilst dusk settled in, with the water beneath them rocking their boat and her lids to close, Sansa wished for a dreamless sleep as she huddled closer to Ser Arthur, her sister’s words imprinted in her mind, _if I look back, I am lost_.

 

#

 

 

“We need to end this now!” Jon called out for his brothers-in-arms, his eyes burning from the sweat that ran down to his face, but he could not blink, or would not— _not_ when he’s faced with a man two heads taller than him and thick as a log, who’s ready to cut him down with two iron cudgels. Of all the days they could be ambushed by outlaws, it chose now when he and his party were on their way to King’s Landing.

“Bit preoccupied here myself,” Harry shouted back whilst parrying two men advancing towards his side. “But that’s our collective goal.”

“Bloody outlaws, always hiding in the bushes!” cried Terrance Lynderly as an arrow hit the ground a few feet away from his person.

“This is like Snakewood forest all over again,” agreed Landon Pryor who was busy punching the living daylights out of a shrieking man, whom previously taunted the said knight when the outlaw managed to cut a long wound on Landon’s forearm.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Terrance warned in a sing-song voice as he covered Landon’s back from an attack by an old outlaw that was thankfully cut down by Domeric Bolton before the old man walked any closer to the two. Both Terrance and Landon were pertaining to a drill for the newly inducted knights orchestrated by Ser Ossifer Lipps and House Lynderly in Snakewood, Terrance’s childhood home, when their drill turned into an actual fight upon discovering mountain clans secretly encamped in the forest to launch an attack on the Snakewood castle.

“Shut your mouths and focus on the enemies! Fools, the lot of you!” Ricker Sunderland, the oldest of their group, barked. To Domeric he asked aloud, “Are the twins ready yet?!”

“Said we’d know it when they are,” the knight responded as he went on to finish two more outlaws. With all the noise that the ongoing fight was generating, it was amazing that Jon and the others even heard what their soft-spoken brother talked of. Though he supposed it was because their ears have well been trained in the all the time they’ve spent with their quiet brother.

“Seven bloody hells… and where is Gyles?” Ricker spat in annoyance as he tied the men who asked for mercy and the young ones they refused to fight with, securely to a tree; their hands and feet bounded in case they think to flee or outplay them.

Jon on the other hand barely avoided the middle aged man’s iron cudgel aimed at his head, and was able to slash a gaping wound on his enemy’s right leg when he heard their bald and brown-eyed brother Gyles Grafton shouted most triumphantly, “You called?” Based on his wide smile, one would think they’re on the winning side, and yet they’re still outnumbered four to one.

“Ricker did,” replied Jon as he kicked his opponent to the ground as well as his iron cudgels away from his grasp. He then hacked his enemy’s left leg and told him to yield.

“Oh, we’d be here all day if you’re this merciful my prince,” commented Ricker. And then he shouted amongst the trees from their back, “Light ‘em up boys!”

At that signal, fire arrows were let loose on their enemies, their arrow heads were lighted by green fire.

“Is that wildfire?” Jon asked, his voice tinged with accusation as it was such a volatile substance, not to mention harder to put out than the outlaws they’re facing with, in an open field with grass and trees that could easily burn down.

“An imitation only that my house’s perfecting to add to our weapons trade,” Gyles explained. “Oh don’t look so betrayed, Jon. I’ve never mentioned this to anyone until now. As I’ve said, we’re still perfecting it,” and the bald knight pointed towards some of the arrows that didn’t reach their specific targets. “Fire-tipped points ruin the trajectory of the arrows and halve their effective range. They’re great for setting fire and to instill fear to others that know the horrors of wildfire… see?”

And Jon saw what Gyles meant as one by one the outlaws hiding from them came out of the woodwork, shouting, _fall back!_ and _yield!_ in alarm and terror. Suddenly, Gyles Grafton’s coat of arms blazoned with a burning tower in yellow, within a black pile upon flaming red, made a lot of sense to Jon now.

“That’s indeed strategic.”

“Couldn’t give the credit all to myself,” added Gyles as he helped Jon tie down the man with the iron cudgels, or presently without and cursing them for all eternity it would seem, “Since it was Domeric, really, who put out the idea and planned everything. He said something about distracting our opponents, I mentioned about the flammable oil I had in my bag, you know how his Bolton mind works, and next we’re seeing his plan in motion—”

“Fuck Gyles! Watch out, Jon!” yelled Harry and Terrance respectively as Jon felt rather than saw what it was they were warning them about. It was incredibly _hot_ , as a boy a few years younger than Jon was able to sneak past them and managed to stab his right hand with a flaming arrow that fell short of its intended target.

The pain came next as the prince let out a startled scream. Gyles immediately got hold of the boy and cuffed him twice before leaving him to help Jon pull the flaming arrow from his burned hand.

“Seven fucking hells Jon! I’m so sorry—”

“Not your fault. Got distracted myself. I’m prime example now of how effective your arrows are in diversion,” and Jon bit his lips to keep himself from crying aloud as Gyles pulled the last of the arrowhead from his flesh.

“Goodness, a _joke_ in this state?” Harry remarked as he ran to their side. “His Grace’s not alright. I repeat, His Grace’s not alright!”

The prince only pulled a face, in part, from the discomfort and agony in his burnt right hand, and in part from Harry’s mockery. “The rest of the outlaws?” he asked instead.

“The twins and _Ghost_ are chasing a few of those who ran, Terrance and Landon are busy bounding up those who’ve surrendered. Ricker’s looking after our horses and the enemies’, and I told Dom to get a salve for your burns.” When his cousin’s deep blue eyes saw the gaping hole in Jon’s right hand, he added hastily, “Best to tell Dom we’d be needing to stitch you too…”

Afterwards, capturing the rest and killing the others who still had a fight left in them and refused to yield was made easy due to Gyles, and the twins Hunter and Hide’s efforts. Their group decided then to bury the bodies they’ve cut down, and to bring the others to the capital for trial and imprisonment.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Terrance mumbled while looking at the row of charred bodies that were victims to the twins’ fire arrows.

 _If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die_ , Jon remembered Uncle Ned’s words hauntingly as he stared at the lifeless bodies and unnamed faces before him. In all honesty, however, Jon did not have the time to hear each outlaw’s final words. He felt that he was running out of time, based on what they heard from the travelers they met from King’s Landing (that there was a standoff in the Red Keep, another Dance of Dragons, it was dubbed), so he only focused on cutting his enemies one by one to clear his path towards the capital.

With his right hand shaking from the pain, the prince trudged to the nearby stream after Domeric instructed him to clean his hand, and submerge it to the cool water to ease his hurts. When he saw his bloodied face and armor reflected on the water, the prince was once again reminded how truly destructive his other house words were: _fire and blood_ —and wondered if that same destructiveness lay in his veins.

 

***

 

It was eerily quiet passing the manses, taverns and brothels outside the Seven Kingdom’s capital. The streets where merchants and smallfolk had thronged were empty and deserted, and it brought gooseflesh on Jon’s forearms. King’s Landing, the walled city, had never looked so foreboding to the prince until now. Even Ghost’s furs rippled, letting out a low and rumbling whimper when it first step foot on the capital grounds that had Jon in a quiet unease.

Harry Hardyng has noticed his discomfort and related it to his burns so he asked the prince how he was currently feeling.

Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to his cousin. “Dom said I’ll have scars but it’ll heal properly.”

The sandy-haired knight knitted his brows in disapproval, eyeing the cracked red skin and big blood blisters on his right hand. “It won’t if it’s festered. Should’ve let a maester see that hand first…”

“And lose a day on the road for finding a nearest inn with a maester, or a healer? No. The way to the capital is much faster.” Not to mention the fact that their ride was made easy when the rest of his party chose to stay behind to oversee their captives while he and Harry pressed on to the capital, promising to send them escorts in the form of goldcloaks, as opposed to traveling together with the prisoners in tow.

As the two members of the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights approached the Dragon Gate, a rangy knight with shoulder-length copper hair, was waiting for Jon Stark and Harry Arryn. The fellow knight was riding a spirited red courser barded, its bronze-colored trappings matching the knight’s cloak, He introduced himself as Ser Addam Marbrand, the new commander of the said gate and the City Watch of King’s Landing.

“What happened to old Stokeworth?” Jon asked, referring to Manly Stokeworth, the former commander of the city watch.

“A riot took place two days ago, Your Grace, supporters of the _reds_ against a limited number of the _blacks_. Lord Stokeworth unfortunately suffered a heart attack whilst the fight broke out. May the Seven bless his soul.”

“Reds and the blacks?”

“Right. Forgive me, you had no way of knowing as your lord father, King Rhaegar now—”

“King?” Jon felt his head swam at that title.

The knight seemed to hesitate and instead gave his companion a pointed look to discreetly ask whether it was safe to divulge his information.

“Harry’s my brother-in-arms. He has my trust.”

“Very well, Your Grace. Your lord grandfather was killed four days ago during the mutiny in the Red Keep. I, myself, am not privy to all the details being a lowly knight, but the bells had been rung. We’re to mourn as well as quell any riots that may come about after your father’s ascension to the throne.”

Jon’s head continued to reel at what the knight just spoke of. His lord grandfather dead, and Father now king of the Seven Kingdoms? At the prince’s stunned silence, the knight continued, “Some talks are true after all. I imagined that’s why you came back here even without receiving summons from the court… There _was_ indeed another Dance of Dragons but a rather short affair compared to the former three-year war. _Reds_ are the group of soldiers, merchants and folks both high and lowborn in support of your father, and the _blacks_ are the ones in support of your lord grandfather and Prince Viserys. The whole city knew there was a standoff in the Red Keep for a moon but the hand of the king alongside the city watch did their best to silence it in order not to cause panic to the other kingdoms.”

“A mutiny…?” Harry asked, agitated. “Then is everyone else...”

“Safe?” finished Jon, his heart at his throat, seemingly throbbing in time with the pain in his burnt hand. “My mother? Is she...”

“She’s safe, Your Grace. She and Ser Brynden the Blackfish had just been released from prison two days ago.”

“The prison!” Jon was aghast. “Whatever for?”

“I’m afraid that’s the extent of what I knew about the happenings in the castle, Your Grace.”

“Then, King Aerys was the only casualty?”

“Yes… officially.”

“I don’t like how ominous that sounds,” Harry remarked.

“Several goldcloaks were dispatched to find the princess...”

“My sister?”

“No, the Princess Sansa, Your Grace.”

“Sansa?” Fright instantly gripped the prince’s heart as he steadied himself by gripping the reins of his steed hard. “Sansa? W—what happened to her?!”

“Again, I’m sorry Your Grace. All I that know was that she’s been missing since the night of the mutiny. I just found out myself since the group that were tasked to find her were from the Mud Gate faction. Overheard a few things and pieced them together.”

“How can you be so sure then?”

“The princess’ handmaiden was found dead in her prison cell. Seemed like she knew the whereabouts of the princess before the mutiny happened. Last I heard from the kitchen helps and other servants who’ve been questioned, she was going to testify, but I don’t know as to whose trial it was for. Guess it was the kingslayer’s...”

  
“Oy Marbrand!” called out a knight with curled hair the color of beaten gold.

Jon instantly recognized the knight to be Ser Jaime Lannister in his white armor and white cloak, the first familiar sight to the prince in what was turning out to be a nightmare of a place for him. _Sansa… missing? Abducted?_ He felt his legs gave out, if not for the fact that he’s still sitting on his palfrey.

“I shall take it from here Addam,” said Ser Jaime as he waited for Jon and Harry to climb down their horses. “Ser Hardyng? I was told you and the prince’s party captured several outlaws north from here. Antlers, was it?”

“Yes, ser,” the Young Falcon answered as he assisted Jon down his palfrey.

“Then please come with Ser Addam to our new master of laws Lord Tarly. He has a lot on his plate right now, but I’m sure he’s ready to spare a few time to entertain your needs. You, on the other hand, Prince Jon, need to come with me to the king’s chambers.”

Harry and Jon shared a look before his cousin patted his pauldrons and went with Ser Addam who was bowing low to Jon to take his leave. As an afterthought, Harry shouted after them, “Make sure the prince see a maester, ser! Afraid we’d come to cutting his hand if it started to fester.”

Ser Jaime raised a brow and examined Jon’s bandaged right hand. “Nasty business being burned. Did this happen during the fight?” He glanced at the prince and decided not wait for an answer, “Let’s go see Grand Maester Aemon first.”

 “We don’t have time for that,” the prince raised his voice unknowingly as he snatched back his hand from Ser Jaime’s grip, “I need to know—”

The white cloak raised a hand to stop the prince’s outburst, “Here are the things you need to know for now, Your Grace: there’s going to be a trial on the morrow for your brother Egg. He confessed to killing the king and awaiting judgment by the Seven. Your father successfully claimed the throne, though spies and loyal people to the former king and your Uncle Viserys are still present at court. As of today, I’m formally your royal bodyguard.”

“But you’re only ever assigned to the Crown Prince—”

Ser Jaime waited for a few beats to pass, his flashing cat-green eyes seemingly appraising Jon’s face as he responded, “Exactly. King Rhaegar has named you his heir.”

 

***

 

Grand Maester Aemon had given the prince the milk of the poppy, yet as moments passed, the pain from his burnt hand only grew more hideous. It took all of his strength not to writhe and moan in distress as he walked towards Father’s solar, Ser Jaime eyeing him every once and a while with concern but did not offer any help. It was just as well. Ghost, on the other hand, howled along the hallway as if he was the one in pain, the reason why Jon didn’t register at first that there was a row happening inside the newly crowned king’s solar.

The prince found Ser Brynden Tully hysterical in Father’s old chambers. His familiar face craggy and windburnt now more weathered and weary, his bright blue eyes were wet with tears.

“I told you Rhaegar!” shouted Ser Brynden, voice filled with accusation. “I should have been the one escorting her to the stormlands. We could have avoided the pirates. I could have… I could have saved her! Oh… Oh gods. My poor Sansa. S—see what you’ve done to my kin? Oh gods.” And the old knight sobbed, cutting Jon’s heart in the process. _What in the world is happening?_

“I didn’t want for any harm to come to her... She’s dear to me, ser! Despite… you know she’s dear to me,” Father cried as well.

And yet Jon refused to hear what’s happening, of what they’re truly saying by their tears. His eyes immediately latched on to Mother who was also in the room, her gentle hands clasping Ser Brynden’s to provide comfort. “Mother?” he asked in barely a whisper.

“Jon!” His lady mother hurriedly left Ser Brynden’s side to enclose him in a hug.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” it was Ser Jaime, “I didn’t know you have an audience. You told me to come at once as soon as the prince arrived.”

“That’s alright, ser. Thank you. Please leave us now to talk.”

“I’ll be outside to stand guard then.”

Father nodded and started to compose himself. He looked once at Jon and then looked away, opting to sit on a chair and with shaking hands reached out for two parchments on his study desk. “I trust Ser Jaime has filled you in on what happened in this keep the past moon?”

“He did,” the prince answered, pulling away from Mother to walk towards their king. Four days ago, Father’s group finally clashed with Uncle Viserys’ after a moon’s standoff, after polishing their plans and getting other noble lord’s support in their cause. The night of the mutiny, they planned to spirit away the Princess Sansa to Evenfall so that she would not be used as leverage by Uncle Viserys anymore. When Prince Aegon and Ser Arthur got to their lord grandfather’s chambers that night, a fight ensued when the king wouldn’t hand over Sansa. The prince slew their lord grandfather then, and advised the kingsguard knight to proceed with their plan. The princess was to be escorted by Jon’s lady mother and Ser Arthur, however the princess asked his mother to stay behind. In all the commotion, Uncle Viserys and his lover Princess Arianne were nowhere to be found—seemed like a few nobles loyal to the prince warned him about Father’s plot. On another hand, they were awaiting for news about Sansa and Ser Arthur’s travels when their ship enroute to Stonedance would stop for supplies, before finally sailing to Evenfall. It was a day hence when a letter from Stonedance penned by Ser Arthur, according to their plans, should’ve arrived back to King’s Landing. And yet, they haven’t received a word from the said knight.

“Lord Josua Massey sent a letter this morning,” Father started. “He reports of pirate attacks along Massey’s Hook, harassing ships from Gullet to Sharp Point, even as far as Dragonstone. House Massey and House Bar Emmon managed to capture some pirates who all said the same thing, it was a paid coordinated attack, and we now suspect Viserys was behind it…”

“Paid coordinated attack…?”

“Somehow, my brother knew our plans about Sansa,” at the mention of her name, Father’s shoulders even drooped lower and his face got darker, “He didn’t seem to know where we’re going to send her so he ordered for the pirates to attack all the ships traveling from King’s Landing.”

“Then the ship Sansa and Ser Arthur were traveling on?”

Father couldn’t look straight at Jon anymore and the prince’s heart started to constrict in dread just as the pain in his burnt hand seemed to heighten even more. “Lord Massey sent another letter to confirm our last suspicion... on the first, he mentioned about a burned swan ship that washed ashore near their castle, alongside a few survivors. Sansa and Ser Arthur were not among them.”

The prince shook his head. “It mustn’t have been the same. Surely there were many swan ships that sailed that night!”

“Lord Massey described the swan ship, Jon. Its figurehead was the Mother and the Maiden. Or what’s left of it. The surviving crew described their red and black sails with trouts on them—the very same that Sansa and Ser Arthur sailed on.”

“They didn’t say anything about—”

“They were unnamed passengers. And all the passengers of that ship were unaccounted for as we speak. The princess and the knight are lost to us, Jon.”

 _Lost?_ The prince couldn’t seem to fathom the meaning of that word.

“I beg your leave Your Grace,” Ser Brynden suddenly spoke, his smoky voice now more frail to the ears. “And scores of goldcloaks. I need to find Sansa. And Ser Arthur. We’ll scour the Gullet and the Sharp Point, even the Narrow Sea. For my peace of mind, I need to do something!”

Their king’s purple eyes seemed fixed on the letters on his hands but he answered in the end, “Take all the men you need, ser.”

Jon turned to the Blackfish. “I’ll go with you Ser Brynden. Just let me pack—”

“No,” both Mother and Father declared.

“You are dismissed Ser Brynden,” their king ordered.

“We’ll be leaving at first light, Jon,” the Blackfish decided. “And we’ll leave with or without you.”

Jon looked on as the knight exited Father’s chambers. When he turned back to his parents he asked in a biting voice, “Did I hear that right? You’re not letting me go?”

Mother answered, placating, “You’re needed here, Jon. For a stable rule, the king needs his heir.”

“Are you forgetting Egg?!”

“The trial tomorrow’s only a formality,” his lord father explained. “But your brother will be sent to the Night’s Watch to pay for his crimes. Grand Maester Aemon will come with him.”

Jon shook his head again in great disbelief. It seemed the longer he stayed in the Red Keep, the more nonsense he was hearing. And coming from their own overlord?

“Egg killed the former king in self-defense. He should be pardoned, not sent to a cold prison. He killed a crazy, bloodlust monarch and the Seven Kingdoms should thank him for it! And yet I’m named as the Crown Prince?”

“Jon… please,” Mother begged as she cradled his burned hand. “Listen to your lord father.”

“You are the ones not listening!” wailed the prince. “I need to find Sansa—”

King Rhaegar finally rose to his chair and walked to stand before his son. “Leave that task to Ser Brynden and the others. You have a duty to fulfill here.”

“I have a duty to her…” Jon insisted. “And Ser Arthur. The knight had been more than a father figure to me!”

Father’s sad purple eyes seemed to be crying without tears, which was why the prince did not expect his words to deal blows to his person when he said in cold bluntness, “Your vows do not extend to the _deceased_. The sooner we face that truth, the sooner we’ll be able to move on. I permitted the Blackfish to leave for his peace of mind. But I can’t afford my only able son to wander about when I have kingdoms to rule. As your king, I order you to stay and perform the duties the crown prince of this realm have.”

The prince couldn’t help raising his voice, “H—how can you say that? How can you say that to your own sister?”

“Don’t presume to know everything about me. And don’t think for even one beat that I no longer care for her, even… as I tell myself that she’s already lost. That we have to give her up… The realm cannot afford us to be distracted especially as your uncle’s still out there, waiting to strike when we least expect it.”

“I wonder what my brother has to say to this.”

At this, Father looked alarmed. “He doesn’t know, Jon. You mustn’t tell him. I know that boy. No sooner had word reached to your brother that Sansa’s lost, than him choosing death over being pardoned, do you understand?”

“And what of me, Father?” cried Jon. “A world without Sansa…”

“Would you punish your lady mother so?”

Jon right there and then was filled with anger and shame. How dare he invoked Mother into this? When he himself has made questionable decisions for his own selfishness?

“Listen to me, Jon. You’ve always been the rational between you two brothers. And I need you to be that, for him.”

“There’s no honor in it,” he spat.

“Aye, but what’s a lie, if it’s to save your brother’s life?” Father challenged. “Have you no love for your brother at all?”

“You very well know that’s not true!” Jon bellowed, his ire for his lord father rising all the more for even insinuating such a thing. The prince gathered his burnt hand close to his chest and breathed deeply to keep himself in check. “B—but… Egg has the right to the truth.”

“We’ll tell him eventually. But not today. Not anytime soon, when his emotions may get the best of him. Now do I have your word, Jon?”

The prince nodded and took some time before saying aloud, “I’ll do as you bid me to, Your Grace. But know that you’ve lost both sons due to this.”

There was a time, as a child, when Jon used to glance up to his lord father’s face when he’s said something out of line to see his reaction, but now that he’s six and ten and stood almost equal to him, it was only a beat when he uttered those words that he saw Father’s face, now lined in the years that passed, crumpled into anguish. The prince felt oddly satisfied and horrified at his actions, especially after spying Mother’s upset face. Heart and right hand aching in unequal pain, Jon turned his back from his parents without waiting to be dismissed, and did not look back.

 

***

 

Prince Aegon Targaryen was kept in the dungeon under the Red Keep, alongside the true criminals of the realm with rooms that has no window, no bed, and not even a slop bucket. Jon was only permitted to visit his brother after his trial has ended so he ducked his set appointment with Father and his Small Council that afternoon to go to him at once, though he could not say if he left word to Ser Jaime as to where he could find him.

A gaoler led the prince to the end of the hallway. He was a scarecrow of a man with a rat’s face and frayed beard, clad in a mail shirt and a leather half cape. At first it seemed that the gaoler wouldn’t be able to turn the heavy wooden door, but he managed in the end with several huffs, the door creaking loudly as it opened.

Inside, he found Egg lying on a makeshift bed made of bedsheets that Jon assumed were brought to him by his lady mother and his half-sister Rhaenys whom he had passed by earlier. His brother’s handsome face was covered in soot, his silver hair lacking its usual sheen. It was the first time he had seen Egg in ages, as he didn’t attend the trial for the farce that it was, serving to please the other lords’ wishes to put justice to King Aerys II’s death when they all should be celebrating his brother’s heroism.

Egg squeezed his eyes shut as the sudden light provided to his room proved to be painful, but then opened after a few beats. “J—Jon, is that you? Goodness, what happened to your hand?”

“Don’t mind me, are you alright?” he asked as he stepped inside his cell.

“I’ll mind my little brother for as long as I could,” he said while getting up. “Now are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?”

“Burnt and struck by a fire arrow. We’re on the way to the capital when outlaws ambushed us. Now are you going to tell me if you’re alright?”

A familiar smile appeared on his face as he sat before Jon. “I’m well fed compared to my cellmates, thank you very much. Apart from stinking so bad, this kind of arrangement won’t kill me.”

Jon sat next to him. “You’re hard to kill anyway.”

Egg only nodded at that and let Silence stretch and hang between the two of them for a while. After, he offered Jon a drink.

“So many things happened while you’re gone… to say you’re in shock would’ve been an understatement, right?”

Something pierced Jon’s heart when his thoughts immediately wandered to Sansa. He swallowed several times, unsure if his voice would break and give away the truth about the princess’ state, so he drank the wine offered to him in response.

“We all should’ve seen it coming. G—grandfather was a changed man after the Defiance. Uncle Viserys more cruel and scheming after Aunt Dany’s elopement. Uncle Doran once told me that this place is a pit of snakes… being born with a title of Crown Prince at first clouded my eyes as people flooded me with songs and praises. I soon recognized how to see the empty and false ones. And yet, life has taught me that even some of our own blood couldn’t be trusted! Truth be told, I find my sentence liberating, Jon. Ironic, but I’ll be freer in the North, I think.”

“You’ve always had an unrestricted heart. The court rules bending to you rather than you adapting them,” said the prince in fondness. There’s no doubt that he’d miss Egg. “I don’t think I could manage like you. I feel… an impostor.”

“You don’t have to manage like me, Jon. Just remember that the only rule you have to play is yours. Besides, no man here is more deserving of that title than you. Unlike me, you’ve done great service to the smallfolk and this realm. There wasn’t a day that I’m not proud and envious of you, you know. If Sansa is here, I’m sure she’d say the same.”

The prince then couldn’t help the tears that formed in his eyes. So to hide them from his brother, as well his lie, he opted to hug Egg in appreciation. “Don’t think you’re done with the palace affairs. I’m still lacking and there’s no better teacher than you. Lord Connington can bugger himself.”

Egg laughed at that. “Even when I’m leagues away?”

“I’d travel to the North and back just to spite him you know.”

“Then you’re already a great student in the making.” When Egg pulled away, he looked at his brother in earnest. “Jon, before Sansa and I parted, she left some words for you. Would you like to hear it?”

Jon controlled himself, and prayed to all the gods that his voice wouldn’t betray him when he answered, “Yes. Please.”

“She sends her love… and she’s sorry but as you’d see each other soon she asks for you to wait for her.”

The prince bowed his head as he couldn’t keep himself from weeping any longer. _I’ll wait for you wherever you are Sansa. Let that be my last duty to you._

In the princess’ last letter Jon recalled her citing Uncle Maester’s words, _we are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love_ , but Sansa forgot the next line Uncle Maester had said to them as children, _that is our great glory, and our great tragedy._

 

#

 

 

In her dream she was made to stand on a wide wooden plinth for all to see. She was stripped naked, and various kinds of eyes stared at her: measuring eyes, ogling eyes, accusing eyes and vacant eyes. Yet none more terrifying than the one in front of her whose violet eyes seemed to be in a delirious delight.

“Is she not beautiful? Look at her, my friends, my lords and ladies, and all of my court! Is she not the loveliest thing your eyes have ever beheld?” said the Violet-Eyed Man with cracked red lips, throwing out his chest, and tossing back his silver hair, dry and thin. “Then, isn’t it only right to have her all for myself, as your master?”

“Yes!” the crowd of eyes answered in a booming voice.

In her dream, she shouted _no!_ but as she didn’t have any mouth to speak with, she only pleaded with her eyes, sobbing big fat tears. Her whole body then shook from horror when the Violet-Eyed Man approached her with iron-rusted prongs in his hands.

“I’ll carve out your blue eyes,” he said. “I have never liked them, you know. A shame since you’re my seed but you didn't take after me, in the ways that mattered. So I’ll carve those eyes out as punishment!”

“Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd of eyes before her chanted.

 _No, please no!_ She begged, but they were deaf to her pleas. The Violet-Eyed Man made her bend down to his level by pulling her chin harshly to him, the prongs held by his bony hands slowly inching closer to her eyes. In her dream she wept and shook most violently.

  
And then she woke up with a start.

  
“Alayne!” shouted her bedfellow. “Oh, I’ve been trying to wake you for long! You’ve been crying in your sleep, tossing and mumbling—”

Said girl knitted her brows as light assaulted her from the opened shutters of their quarters. Alayne rubbed the sleep off her face, as well the dried tear tracks on her skin. “Just a bad dream, Edith.” And the memory of it was already hazy in the girl’s mind.

Edith, whose round face was permanently framed in a bun that she’s always sported from the time Alayne met her, seemed worried as she chewed her bottom lip whilst appraising her friend. “But you haven’t had them in moons.”

“They come and go. Must be my nerves that elicited it.” Alayne got up and immediately made their straw bed. She has a long day ahead of her and she won’t let any dreams, bad or not, distract her from performing her duties.

“That’s exactly it!” said Edith as she helped Alayne braid her long dark hair after the girl finished washing her face. “Being chosen to work as handmaiden for the Lady Roslin, now that she’s travelling to the North for her wedding, and to live there for good must’ve leave you antsy.”

Alayne only bobbed her head in answer as she quickly dressed herself in a plain shirt, with a blue tunic and long dark skirt over it, and plain dark boots. Standing before the looking glass as she examined herself she said, “It does, but the lady has been most kind to me. I shan’t complain.”

The girl spied through the looking glass how Edith’s face turned understanding, “Oh, I suppose there are worse fates than living in the cold and dry North… to be married to the old man, like.”

Alayne’s blue eyes crinkled even as her mouth slid downwards in mock disapproval. “You mustn’t say such things Edith!”

Her friend laughed helplessly. “What? We’ve all known that old lord has his eyes set on you the very first day you came here! It’s a blessing that the Lady Roslin has whisked you away from him. Almost a hundred years old! That man’s ancient, Alayne. Don’t you think he’s one of the First Men?” And Edith’s round face and round almond eyes as she proclaimed the last bit, spurned Alayne into a fit of giggles.

“Stop it! That’s the Lord of the Crossing you’re slandering about.”

Her bedfellow only shrugged her shoulders. “He’s also called the Late Lord Frey by our liege lord.”

“That won’t stop him from severing our heads and putting ‘em up on a pike to set an example for errant servants.”

Edith rolled her eyes to Alayne, “They’d think twice to cut off your head when you have such a pretty face.”

“Tell that to Pia who sported a crooked nose and missing teeth after angering Ser Gregor Clegane,” she refuted, reminding her friend about the infamous story about a pretty servant of House Whent and the landed knight, during a tourney at Lannisport held about seven moons ago. Alayne then hooked her hands with Edith as she led her to the sculleries to begin their day’s work.

 

***

 

Alayne was out of breath when she reached the Twins’ eastern castle that opened to an apple orchard. She promised a bunch of young Freys that they would pick apples later that afternoon, but getting up late that day only meant that Head Steward Sedgekins would make her and Edith work twice as much, from cleaning dishes, boiling water for cooking and bathing, to washing clothes—all in the span of morning until their midday meal. So she sprinted from the western castle to the stone bridge, the crisp autumn wind on her face, and her basket and plaited hair seemingly flying every which way until her feet reached the cornfields and the orchards outside the fortified crossing. She patted her breast to even her breathing as she made her way to the kids shouting enthusiastically at her.

“You’re late~ you’re late~” sang little Jonos, running around her person like a fly.

“Oh, Alayne! We thought you won’t be coming,” White Walda greeted her, and instantly clung to her free arm.

“And break my promise? That’ll be the day.” Her eyes then scanned for the children present in their little apple-picking event: White Walda and her brothers Robert and little Jonos, the twins Serra and Sarra, Merry, Deaf Della, Elmar and Shirei. She smiled at them all and begged for a few beats to catch her breath. “I see you’ve all brought your own baskets, but have you picked a tree yet?”

A shake of heads was the answer the maid received. “Very well…” Alayne glanced to the rows of dwarf apple trees before her and chose the spot near the center. She then divided the kids into two and set each pair to one tree. As they were in odd numbers, the maid paired herself with Deaf Della.

“Now gather here first.” Once the nine children enclosed her she started to explain their activity, “You lot must remember, apples ripen from the outside of the tree towards the center, so the apples outside of the tree will ripen first. Once they are picked, they stop ripening. With me so far?”

A chorus of _yes_ and bobbing heads were the children’s response.

“And color is not really how you tell when an apple is ripe. When you hold them, the apples should be crisp and firm.” She then bent down to demonstrate how to pick a fruit, making a grand gesture of squeezing a little to measure the apple’s firmness. “Picking apples directly from a tree is easy. You have to roll the apple upwards off the branch and give a little twist, see?” A successful tug and the stem broke easily. “Once picked, don’t throw the apples into the baskets, place them gently instead, else they’ll bruise and go bad more quickly. Understood?”

Again, a buzz of yes and eager nods, suggesting that the kids wouldn’t be bothered anymore with her lecture if she didn’t end it anytime soon. “Alright. Start picking then. And remember not to pull straight away from the tree.”

“And don’t shake the trees or branches!” she added when she saw Elmar doing it, hoping it would yield more apples in his basket with the least effort. The boy look chastened as he hastily did away with the act.

Peals of laughter and squeals enveloped their party. She then turned back to her partner Deaf Della, oftentimes a sweet child who earned the moniker not because she was born with the said illness, but for being stubborn and not always listening to her parents. Said child was already busy squeezing the apples on their dwarf tree to see which ones she would pick. She glanced back to Alayne for her approval when she decided for the apple, dark red in coloring, on her farthest left. She nodded in agreement and helped the child twist and turn the apple to break from the branch’s hold, “A man told me once to leave the stem on the apples. He says that helped them store longer—”

“Who was this man Alayne?” asked Deaf Della whilst placing the apple she just picked gently on her basket and already eyeing another one to her side.

 _Who..?_ Indeed, who was Alayne talking about? She could not recall the man’s face… but she was certain it was a man who told her so. Was she unknowingly remembering? But if she tried hard, already the memory was fading and slipping from her mind, like a slumbering dog that woke up unexpectedly and chose to take a nap again. The maid suddenly felt her head ache.

“I’m sorry… I don’t remember exactly.”

Deaf Della stared at her with worry. “That’s alright. I’m just asking for the sake of asking. Aunt Roslin told me not to pressure you in remembering, said it’d give you pains in the head.”

“No harm done,” Alayne lied, smiling to reassure the girl even as her head started to throb. “Now let’s see who can pick the most apples in only fifty counts!”

 

***

 

Alayne met Maester Brenett at the middle of the stone bridge by the Water Tower on her way back from the kitchens of the east castle, having finished teaching the kids how to make apple tarts, as well as baking the said pastry; she’s fought tooth and nail with Gytha in order to be allowed to use the kitchens that day, which resulted in her bribing the old maid with doing extra work in the east castle when she’s a servant originally assigned in the west castle, not to mention a newly named handmaiden to the Lady Roslin. No matter, her basket was full to the brim with the golden and freshly baked treats, and that alone was worth her while.

The maester waved at Alayne in greeting. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you, girl.”

That seemed to be theme of Alayne’s day, people waiting for her. “I don’t think we’ve planned on meeting though, maester.”

“You’re right, we haven’t,” agreed the bald, fat maester. “But your friend Edith talked to me about you having bad dreams again in so long, so I thought it best to check up on you.”

Alayne immediately stopped her brows from furrowing in annoyance. Dear old Edith was being a blabbermouth again!

Maester Brenett inclined his head, peering at the contents of her basket. “Where are you headed to?”

“The Lady Roslin’s chambers. I’ll have to draw her bath before supper.”

“Well now, I won’t keep you for long, we can talk while we walk,” and the maester strolled towards the west keep. His robes were usually stained with raven droppings but in a breath of fresh air, his brown robes were clean albeit frayed at the ends. “We’ve already established from past examinations that these dreams of yours have ties with you remembering little bits of your old self, haven’t we?”

“Yes, maester.”

“And that you suffer bouts of headaches afterwards?”

Alayne bobbed her head in answer. “It only stopped this afternoon, while the children and I were busy preparing the dough for the apple tarts.”

“And what did you remember?”

Alayne trained her eyes on the Green Fork, wishing its endless susurrus would drown out this conversation entirely. “Just… someone,” she finally answered. And then she corrected herself, “A man … there was a man telling me how to leave the stems of the fruits when picking them from the tree. And I don’t know this man. I can’t even remember what he looks like.”

“I see. Another random memory, sadly,” the maester’s double chin jutting out when he looked at the chains hanging down his neck, releasing a sigh in the process. “Not a specific one pertaining to your past self… how long has it been since you came here, child?”

“Close to a year and a half.”

“And you’ve had this type of sickness after almost drowning in Wendwater?”

“Me and my older brother William both.” Though William insisted that she not mention about the burns he suffered during that incident that changed their lives forever (preferring to weave tales to the people they met about the cause of his burnt face), nor share the particulars such as sailing along Massey’s Hook, his brother being a hedge knight, and the fact that they weren’t even sure if they were related in the first place (dying their hair black was something William thought of when they reached Felwood, to serve as precaution for other people thinking they weren’t true siblings for their different coloring: she with her auburn hair and blue eyes, William, with fair-hair and violet-eyes).

The two of them just woke up to the shallow parts of the river flowing to Blackwater Bay with their memories completely wiped out. Even now, Alayne couldn’t remember anything that happened that night, except for the fact that the ship they were sailing to wherever it was they intended to go, burned and they were forced to jump ship and swim to the nearest shore. She got carried away by the currents and would surely drown if not for William’s help. They’ve looked after each other since then, traveling together from Wendwater to Grassy Vale to offer his services to a house’s army and hers as a maid until offer of gold and food (and search of cure to their illness) brought them as far as the Crossing, journeying almost half of Westeros’ lands. And yet the two of them haven’t reached any conclusion as to what caused their memory loss, or even gain some truths about their past selves.

“Such a curious thing. William confided in me that he suspects you two need to experience events same as what your past selves experienced in order for your memories to resurface, though of course there are any number of events to choose from. And not to sound pessimistic but you lot could be doing all kinds of things not reaching any result, given the time that had passed and little progress with what you both have remembered without the triggers…”

“That sounds awfully pessimistic though Maester Brenett,” the maid chided gently.

  
“Forgive me, child,” said the maester with a set smile. “Ah! I’ve gone on for too long when I really just want to give you these sweet-smelling herbs to ease your headaches. Now are you going to offer me some of those apple tarts?”

“Thank you maester.” Alayne accepted the herbs and pocketed them in the side seam of her skirts. “And yes of course! Plenty of these to go around,” and the maid tittered as she reached for a few pieces from her basket to give to the maester when the cuff of her right sleeve was pushed upwards and a white scar was put on display. Her body was littered with them in fact, some were long ugly welts on her back, others were marks as if she were often tied and slashed. What kind of previous life did she lead to obtain such mutilations? She was sure it was only a life of pain and suffering, and that’s why she didn’t want to have this kind of talk with Maester Brenett. Alayne didn’t want to remember.

 

***

 

“With this ring, you’re making him a promise. With the spinning wheel you spin the threads that connect you and with the reel you finally coil the threads at last. And it’s my hopes that with these charms, you and your lord husband would grow more close and have a blissful married life,” declared Alayne, explaining the meaning of the three golden charms she gifted the Lady Roslin. “It’s not much for a wedding gift, my lady. But I wanted to have you these before we journey to the North.”

The lady’s big brown eyes sparkled in delight and gratitude. “They’re lovely Alayne! Are you sure they didn’t cost you a fortune? The craftsmanship in these charms—” and the girl twisted and turned her wrist to study her new bracelet.

“I’ve saved enough. Besides, the goldsmith was a good friend of William so the old man gave me a hefty discount while weaving those charms into a bracelet…”

“Oh, thank you!” Lady Roslin hugged her then. “Truly, you’re a dear friend.”

“And I’m deeply honored that you consider me as one.”

The lady then heaved a sigh. “Alright. I can’t be the only one receiving gifts! Go to my chest near the foot of my bed and get the brown sack in it, the one placed at the right side I think?”

Alayne did as she was bid to, curious as to what the lady has in store for her. She lifted the heavy brown sack from the chest and inclined her head to Lady Roslin in silent question.

“I originally plan to give them to you when we arrived at Winterfell, but seeing as Maester Brenett reports of winter arriving sooner than we expect it, the long journey to the North may prove too cold without those…”

The maid opened the brown sack and found various winter garments: there were woolen hoses and dark heavy skirts, lambswool overtunics in red, blue, grey and black, a hooded fur cloak in blue, a scarf, and two pairs of fur-lined leather gloves. “Oh, my lady…” unbidden, tears formed on Alayne’s eyes.

“William said you didn’t have any winter clothes. And I’m the one who requested your company in the North. It’s part of my duty to see to your well-being.”

“As your handmaiden, I think it’s the other way around. Thank you for these Lady Roslin. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“It was nothing, Alayne. Truth of the matter was most of those came to me as gifts for my wedding from my siblings and aunts and uncles… and you know how large our House is!” The lady then got up from her stool next to the vanity to sit on the rushes before the hearth. “What am I to do with tons of chests full of clothes?” and her hand flicked to the ones inside her chambers to prover her point. “My lord husband might think I’m too worldly.”

Alayne joined Lady Roslin on the floor and stoked the fire. “But you deserve nothing less my lady.”

The girl folded her knees so that her arms and delicate chin could rest on top of it, the tips of her long brown hair touching the rushes. “I sure hope Robb Stark thinks the same.”

“He’s a fool if he thinks anything but.” When Alayne spied from the corner of her eyes Lady Roslin’s pursed lips, looking unsure still, she added, “It’s also true that since you haven’t met each other, it’s hard to judge his character… but if you keep true to yourself, then I’m sure he will open up to you as well. Besides, I’ve learned from Edith that there are a lot of ways on how a woman can move a man’s heart.”

Suddenly, the lady smiled impishly. “I’m sure there are a few things Septa Magge didn’t tell me, for fear that they’re not fit for a lady’s ears. But before you share me Edith’s wisdoms, I haven’t yet sorted the gowns gifted to me… You know you can have the ones too big for me.”

Alayne squealed in delight internally. “I don’t think that’s an offer I can refuse…” she admitted.

“Who said you’re allowed to refuse?” and the two of them laughed freely inside the lady’s chambers.

 

#

 

 

            _Time present (Extended Play 1)_

 

 

“You’re here again?” was Robb’s greeting to his cousin and heir to the throne Jon Stark… or Jon Targaryen now that there have been talks about his legitimization in order to continue the Targaryen’s line and rule. He’d found the crown prince loitering at Winter Town’s market square, just as Jory (who’ve met the prince a few times) reported to him, and just as he suspected when he heard two wolves howling last night and when Grey Wind couldn’t be found anywhere in Winterfell just this morning (he and Ghost might still be hunting).

“What’s that? Am I not welcome here?” responded Jon, turning to him dressed as a hedge knight in an old and dented armor.

“You know you are, Your Royal Arseness,” and Robb reached out for the prince’s arm to enclose him in a half hug.

Jon smirked at him. “I do miss the coldness of the North, and some of its people.”

Robb wouldn’t back down that easily, however. Especially as he received a special request from Aunt Lyanna that if Jon wandered to the North again, he must convince the prince to go back home for his eighteenth nameday happening in two moons. And they’re pressed for time as the travel back to King’s Landing usually takes up to a moon from Winterfell. “This is the second time you’ve visited us this year alone. Don’t you tire yourself of the journey back and forth? I heard from Harry that you even stay less in the capital, preferring to wander in the Riverlands and Crownlands mostly with your former brothers-in-arms. I don’t think that’s wise, considering you’re the Crown Prince now.”

The prince raised a brow as he turned his back on him to walk towards the well at the center of the market. “Nice to know that both my cousins keep track of me. Have you two started a sewing circle without me?”

Robb huffed at the insinuation as the two of them sat on the well and continued their conversation. “You didn’t send a raven that you’re coming.”

“I don’t want to trouble Uncle Brandon and Aunt Ashara. The rest of you are busy with the wedding preparations, are you not? Besides, I intend to visit Egg first at Castle Black. We’re not supposed to stop here, if not for Ser Jaime’s insistence to drink some wine to warm his guts. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to send a raven from there announcing my official visit to partake with your wedding feast.”

Robb frowned at his cousin. “The wedding coincides with your nameday feast at King’s Landing.”

“They can celebrate without me—”

“Jon—”

“It’s not even a good look since a few villages in the crownlands and the reach are experiencing famine.”

Robb shook his head. “The realm needs to see their Crown Prince.”

It was the prince’s turn to huff. “I’ve had enough with the lords and ladies’ condescending looks and flowery words. I serve the realm by bringing justice to the smallfolk and the smaller Houses.”

“And you think ruling from the iron throne’s a child’s play? Or something not meaningful?”

“Father has his Small Council. But if I’m to rule one day, I’d like to be able to truly decide by my own, from my own knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms. That way, I wouldn’t fall prey to the nobles bringing forth to me their grievances to serve their hidden agendas.”

Robb could see his cousin’s point. His lord father has drilled the same sentiment to him. “But other people won’t see it that way, Jon. Right now, they think you’re running away from your duties… Or did you and the King have another row? Was it another marriage proposal?”

The prince’s brows twitched, and Jon’s mouth slid downwards suggesting to Robb that he hit a nerve.

“Who’s the lucky lady then?”

The prince seemed to grumble as he answered, “Lady Margaery Tyrell. Rhaenys has been pushing her to me for moons now.”

“It’s not a bad match.” Robb recalled a few songs written about her beauty and talents, not to mention coming from one of the most wealthy houses in the realm.

“I just know we’re not suited. Besides…” and the prince had a faraway look on him as he heaved a breath, his shoulders hunched in on himself.

And Robb all knew too well where that trail of thought would lead Jon to. For the prince, most things led back to the lost princess Sansa. And for the prince, time was something he has to withstand, and not something that just flow after news finally broke out that the princess and her companion traveling in Massey’s Hook perished when pirates attacked the ship they were sailing on. However, Jon wasn’t the only one who lost a kin that night! _Sansa… my precious sister who shared the same Tully blue eyes and auburn hair as I have._ The sibling he’d watched from afar during their lady mother’s burial rites. He wanted for Jon to know these things, that he shared the same pain as him, maybe even more, for having been denied to foster a relationship with her in secret back when they had a time, when she was still alive… but his true father Ned Stark had advised him against it, saying it could endanger their lives; and now his father still insisted for him to hold his tongue, saying that there was no point for the truth to resurface, not when the two people involved in their secret were lost to them forever.

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm excited to find out what you guys think of this update. It has always been in my plan to incorporate "Alayne" in this story. This wouldn't be a Thousandfurs adaptation if it's without deceptions of some sort ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (which you'll find more of in the next chapters).  
> 2\. Also, please let me know if you have any problems with my characterizations. It's been a long time since I last read the books and I do want to write Jon/Sansa and the others with their core selves, so to speak, well-reflected in my story.  
> 3\. As always, thank you for the kudos and the comments I've received thus far. They're my fuel!!! And shout-out too @loke_21 for checking up on me during my hiatus ❤  
> 3\. AND A BIG THANK YOU (AND HEART EYES) TO YOU DEAR READER who's still stuck with me and this fic even after being close to 2 years since I published it here in AO3.  
> 4\. To the new readers~ welcome to the ride! Until my next update :)
> 
> *and and to the eagle-eyed Westworld fans out there, I may have made a reference about it in this fic, wink-wink, nudge-nudge*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein someone learned not everything was as it seemed and another came to know of what has been carefully hidden*

Oh, and they come unstuck (II)

 

 

“Can I come in?”

Alayne recognized that voice accompanying the rapping on the door and immediately the girl leapt from her kneeling position, formerly arranging her trunk for the second time that dawn, and rushing to open the door of their quarters, her heart skipping a beat.

“Will!” she shouted cheerfully and looped her arms on his neck as she hugged her brother. “Oh, when did you arrive?”

“Late last night actually. Had a few drinks with the other free riders to celebrate the end of our job at Seagard and its infestation of reavers. Didn’t want to disturb you and Edith here so I slept at Idla’s rooms.”

Alayne pressed her lips in disagreement with her brother’s behavior whilst Edith arched a dainty brow, “It better not be Idla’s! I won’t hear the end of it during the laundry today.”

Alayne groaned. “That’s my brother you’re talking to!”

Her dear friend only puckered her lips, stood from the rushes and made her way to William to ask, “The drinking and the dancing is not over yet, is it?”

Alayne’s brother shook his head in the negative, strode to the vanity and proceeded to sit on its flat surface, his inebriety showing as he seemed to slide down, unable to control his long legs and fix them properly to hold himself up.

Edith lit up at that information whilst clapping her hands together, obviously wanting to join the merriment outside. Before she reached the door however, she spun again to face William after sending her friend an unapologetic smile, “You know you’re welcome here, after Alayne leaves us for the North. At least for a fortnight until you join her there.”

William answered with a lopsided smile. “That is a gracious offer, I’ll give it a thought after considering Posy’s.”

And because Alayne was standing next by the door she couldn’t see her bedfellow’s reaction to that pronouncement, but by hearing her blurt _Oh, you bad man!_ with a laugh, she thought her friend took it in stride despite knowing that Edith fancied her brother way deeper than her jests would tell.

Afterwards, Edith left them siblings to catch up with each other, mumbling and giving her a wink as she bumped her shoulder to Alayne’s before walking out, “Should be fun joining the merriment in the courtyard. Only time we could mingle with the lads… it’s your lost, Alayne.”

When Alayne barred the door Will began to pull the bandaged wrapped around half of his face, that one he’s always sported after gaining burn scars. “What was that?”

“It’s nothing,” she answered and made an effort to shrug.

Will didn’t buy it though. “I know there’s something when you’re looking like a pomegranate.”

_Red as pomegranate,_ a woman’s gentle voice whispered to Alayne. Followed by a young man’s teasing voice, _You’ve turned a very pretty pomegranate._ There were familiar voices swarming the girl’s head and to hide it from Will that she’s currently remembering, she turned sharply away from him in act of annoyance and huffed, hoping that this time Will would buy her act.

“Come now, Al. What’s it about?” his purple eyes set on her through the looking glass.

It made her squirm for some reason as she casted her eyes down in an automatic response. She decided to finally tell him the truth to ease her conscience of not telling him she’s remembered something from her old self, “Elmar confessed to me. Said he wanted to marry me… I guess to also stop me from going to the North.”

“And did you accept?”

Alayne went to his side and helped him apply salve for his marks, their nightly routine whenever Will stayed and was out of commission from the Stormbreaker Company. “No I didn’t. I don’t think of him that way. He should ask for my hand from you besides.”

Will seemed to grind his teeth as he said “As if I’d let the little lordling take you.” And then he grabbed Alayne’s right hand that was hovering over his face to hold it close to him. “This is why I worry not being around you more often. Men, young and old, lowborn and high, clamoring for your hand. I, on the other side of the known world it seemed, fighting a war that’s not relevant to me, except for the coin it’d bring while you steadily rising from your lowly station as a maid to a lady-in-waiting for one of the most powerful houses in this realm.”

“Are you not happy I’m earning my keep? We needed the money to cure for your left eye,” said Alayne as she thumbed the skin below it.

“I’m just saying you are, and will, always be my responsibility. The men flocking towards you will sooner or later find a way to take advantage of you, and I’m afraid of that, bugger my left eye for all I care. And it’s not as if I’m going to be blind completely. Maester Brenett swears so.”

Alayne’s heart tugged at that. “You’re my responsibility as well. We’re brother and sister, even if our lost memories may prove that false.” And she pressed a kiss to Will’s temple to assure him. “And you best believe that I can take care of myself when you’re away. I can deflect unwanted advances, thank you very much.”

Will raised a brow. “How ‘bout the ‘wanted’ ones?”

That made her step back as she made a noise at the back of her throat, quite mortified and vexed.

Her brother only folded his arms on his chest as he continued to stare and smirk at her outburst. “I hear the Northmen are a different sort of men. Might be you’d find someone you honestly like there?”

“Bite your tongue!”

“What? I’m genuinely curious. You have a very pretty face Al. You’re a maid flowered and young to be a lord’s wife, now that the soon-to-be Lady of the North has granted you to become a lady-in-waiting. You can read, write and do sums which is a lot of knowledge already for us members of the smallfolk. And don’t think I don’t notice when you dreamily look at the handsome enough lads of my company.”

“Oh, Will! I don’t want to have this conversation with you—”

Her brother grabbed both her hands now to enclose them with his. “But you’ll eventually tell me if you find yourself fancying someone, won’t you?” His purple eyes seemed frantic to Alayne so she nodded at once, wanting to appease him.

“Of course. One day. But honestly Will, marrying someone is so far off from my head. I just want to be a reliable handmaiden for Lady Roslin.”

Will appeared to consider that. “Alright. That’s just for my peace of mind, Al.” And then in a voice so low he added, “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to let go of you, my sweet.”

For some reason, that sentiment made Alayne’s mouth dry and her chest swell from trepidation. She has heard of that line before… but she shook herself out of it. Surely, it’s just a product of her nerves again?

That didn’t stop her from reclaiming her hands from her brother. And to make it less reactionary from what he just said, she masked it in mock scorn. “Yes, well, in only a few hours we’d start the journey to the North. If you and your company had arrived any later, then you wouldn’t be able to see me off at all.”

“Don’t sound so grumpy, Al. I promised, didn’t I? And I’m here,” his bony hands sweeping his frame in a mannerism that was so familiar for Alayne that it reinforced the idea that whatever their old selves were before losing their memories, she was sure Will was a part of her life then.

Despite Will’s calm tone and sweet words, Alayne’s heart fluttered in anxiety again.

 

***

 

“You’ve cut your hair?” disbelief was written plainly on her lady’s brown eyes as she climbed the wheelhouse that would serve as their refuge for the two week-long journey to Winterfell, after having said her farewells to Will and Edith.

“It’s more manageable this way,” was all Alayne could divulge. It was a half-truth at least, as Will decided she cut her hair short so it would be easier for her to dye it, as well as minimize the meager amount of dye left to her until Will secured them another sack of it that could last for moons.

“But you love plaiting your hair…” Lady Roslin dismayed as she made room for Alayne inside the wheeled carriage, pushing pillows with her hose-covered feet.

“Yes, I did milady,” the maid answered, seated across her lady, consciously combing the ends of her wavy hair that now only reached an inch above her shoulder. Edith assured her that her new hairstyle framed the shape of her face just fine, though that may just be her complimenting Will’s skills with the shears.

Lady Roslin edged closer to Alayne. “Well, it’s not as if we can’t do it now. Come here. I think I’ve seen this hairstyle you could pull off from one of Leonella’s girls.”

“Oh, but you doing my hair—”

The lady only furrowed her brows to gently reproach the handmaiden. “We’ve got a lot of time to kill, enclosed in this litter Alayne. Let me do this.”

“As you wish, milady,” she conceded and turned her back on her to let her style it. In truth, she rather found having short hair an ease on her load as she would no longer despair on how to style it whilst she do her chores, and no longer worry about its state of dryness due to the strong dye she was using on it—the only problem would be how she’d brave the winter winds in the North as she just knew she’d be susceptible to the cold and she imagined her longer tresses before would provide warmth at the very least. Oh well, she would just have to make do with the fur hooded cloak the Lady Roslin has given to her the other day.

After moments of pulling up half of Alayne’s hair in silence, twisting and combing them with her nimble fingers, Lady Roslin hesitantly spoke, “Speaking of things to do to kill time on the road, I’ve been thinking…”

“Of?”

“Do you… think it forward of me if I—” and then the lady slowly stopped plaiting Alayne’s hair as she seemed to have an inner debate with herself of what she’s about to say. Then she sighed a deep and long one afterwards as she began continuing her ministrations on Alayne’s hair while spewing the next words in a rush, “…you know, if I send Robb Stark letters now? For us to get to know each other?”

_Oh._ That’s quite a sweet thought from her lady, and if Alayne could just turn her head, she knew Lady Roslin would be blushing furiously.

The maid refrained herself from teasing her. “Not at all, milady. It think it’s natural even.”

“Do you really think so, Alayne?”

“I do,” and this time she did manage to turn around to look at Lady Roslin in the eye, “If you want, I could help you with those letters, if you ever found yourself doubting what to write to the lord.”

“Oh, I could definitely use your opinion. You’ve always been levelheaded and could temper me if I ever sound sappy, like _Dear Robb Stark, I’ve heard tales of how you earned the moniker the Young Wolf when the ironmen came to sack White Harbor. Did you know I dreamed of you looking all gallant, only because I don’t know what you look like, I imagined you a half beast, hairy and with sharp teeth and sharp claws?_ ”

Alayne chuckled in disbelief. “Truly?”

“The very truth,” her lady nodded solemnly with a helpless smile.

“You’ve got an active mind, milady… and the kind of humor that I’ve no doubt would endear you to him, and I say this not as your handmaiden, or friend. It’s just a fact.”

“Oh, Alayne,” Lady Roslin hugged her then and placed her head on her shoulder. An easy gesture to her person that her lady came to indulge herself with being the affectionate and only daughter of Lord Walder Frey and Bethany Rosby, who’s not close with any of her half-sisters; the girl has a small build compared to Alayne who’s two heads taller than her and she always found it comfortable to curl up beside her whenever they talk of things, in all manner: big or small, shallow or from within the deepest parts of their hearts. No matter how the maid’s close with her bedfellow Edith, it was the Lady Roslin Alayne was at ease with, in telling about her notions of her old self (like how she entertained thoughts about being of noble birth only because it’d explain as to how she knew how to read, write and do sums, and play the harp, or that she may be a daughter of a merchant looking to marry her off to a knight with lands, or that she and Will may be part of a theater troupe who took off because they didn’t want to be part of that company anymore, or for all she knew, she may be a courtesan in training, to which Lady Roslin would snigger most unladylike while apologizing that she’s truly a maid same as she when Alayne blushed beet red that time she mistook Olyvar’s chambers for hers and Alayne walked in on him and his cousin Walda Rivers rutting like rabbits; she couldn’t look at Olyvar and Walda Rivers in the eye then for several moons, and avoided even a hint of their shadows like a plague. She could also confide to her conflicting thoughts about her own brother Will, how she sometimes resented his overprotective nature and how she sometimes found herself afraid of him no matter how grateful she was that he took her under his wing, cared and provided for her after their accident, that there were times she caught herself on the verge of spilling the truth to her lady, of a mummer’s farce she was playing after she woke up with no memories, and how her body’s littered with scars that illustrated a tragic story she never knew if she’ll ever be ready to face).

“…but milady, I think it’s a wise course of action to refrain mentioning that bit, not until you’ve had your fourth or fifth correspondence with him,” she finally teased.

“A sound advice. And what do you think of this one, _Dear Robb Stark, my large family thinks I’m marrying a baseborn son no matter that you’ve been long legitimized when the king was still sane. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive any transgressions they will surely throw at you during our wedding feast._ ”

“Especially your father.”

“Most especially my father,” Lady Roslin agreed, her disdain of her lord father was no secret between the two of them due to the lord’s sharp tongue, being ill-tempered and dismissal to the memory of her deceased mother. Her lady was meek and shy yes, but occasionally she and her old lord father would butt heads, never acknowledging to anyone’s face (save for Alayne and her brothers Olyvar and Benfrey) that she did inherit the lord’s traits of being prideful and prickly when provoked, and holding long grudges. “ _Oh dear Robb Stark, just knowing that you hold the reins to the North even though you have trueborn brothers are enough for them to turn a blind eye to the nature of your birth. I hope you use that to your advantage._ ”

“You’re not bothered by it, truly?” said Alayne as she pulled the curtains of their litter close, mindful of the noise of the party around them still busy doing last minute preparations before they start the march to Winterfell.

“Olyvar told me it was the Lady Ashara Stark who requested for Lord Robb to be legitimized, using the close relations of the Daynes to the Targaryens to lobby for their request at a time when the Starks were held in low-esteem to the crown due to their plans of rebellion.”

“But that is such a curious thing to personally do for a child of your husband to another woman,” commented the maid.

“I thought so too, and told it to Olyvar. He said back then, the lady couldn’t carry her children to their full term, and the twice that she did, they were stillborn. My brother said the lady was very fond of Robb and mayhaps she really considers him as her own, that even though she finally bore the Warden of the North trueborn sons after 12 years of their marriage, she didn’t feel the need to make one of them the heir of the Winterfell’s seat.”

“But wasn’t those sons, twins? Could it be because deciding an heir from the two would just be disastrous?”

“It could be, but we’ve had a long tradition of considering firstborns as heirs. If I remember it right, it was Edrick who was born first before Edwyn. And it makes no matter really, Olyvar told me they’re one happy family and turning against one another was not the Northern way.” And the lady heaved a breath at that, no doubt comparing it to her own family, his father siring over a hundred descendants, base and trueborn, that even though he placed a great emphasis on family loyalty, his descendants jockey ruthlessly for his favor that there was more infighting in the family compared to fights with other Houses in the realm.

Alayne opted to change their subject so she asked Lady Roslin how she’d close the letter to the Young Wolf. She could feel the lady’s lips curl in a smile when she said, “ _One thing you’d be happy to know Robb Stark is that I took after my mother and I don’t look anything like my weasel old man.”_

 

What the Lady Roslin did manage to send to her betrothed was this:

 

_To Lord Robb of House Stark,_

_I, Roslin Frey, am to journey to the North to meet you and become your wife._

_It isn’t a secret that our families have arranged us to marry for political reasons but I don’t want to marry a stranger. That’s why I thought of writing to you so we could get to know each other._

_I will try to answer in all honesty all the questions you may have of me, or the gods strike me down. And I hope you can return the favor._

_To start, I am the fifth daughter of the Lord of the Crossing. As my close maid and friend would have described me, I am small and have the color of the earth: brown hair and brown eyes._

_They say I have a gentle nature, and for the most part that’s true. I fear we wouldn’t be holding long conversations for our first few meetings as I could get extremely shy. But know that I do have a prickly side and proud of my family and its history even though we tend to be the laughing stock south of the Neck._

_I have a talent for music, I can play the harp, lute and the flute. I’d consider it an honor to play for you some time. I also enjoy reading and dancing and I’m not quite sure if these are also of your interests as I do know that men would rather ride, hunt and hold a sword, based on my own experiences with my brothers._

_I’m willing to compromise though, if you are too, my future husband._

_I don’t know what the married life will hold for us, but I do hope we can be good friends out of this arrangement._

_Signed,_

_Lady Roslin of House Frey_

 

 

And this was the response she received four days later as the Frey party marched along the ruined stronghold of Moat Cailin:

 

_To Lady Roslin of House Frey_ ,

_I was surprised to receive your letter, but no less glad that it reached my fingers as frankly I have reservations about this match, but I’ve no doubt we’d be more at ease if we learned about each other early on and I thank the old gods for your wit and bravery to do so._

_You asked for honesty and I’m here to supply it. Before our betrothal, I’ve been involved with someone. I fancied her, even thought of asking her father for her hand. But as it turned out my own lord father has other plans for me._

_This girl and I came to an understanding and have parted our ways since. I am baseborn though legitimized and I’m sure you’ve heard several tales about our blood, but I promise I wouldn’t sully your honor by straying. So I only ask, though this may be underserving of me, that you put your faith in me._

_As you’ve said, I also hope that we can be good friends and partners in life._

_As for my visage, you may or may not have heard of this story but a southron lady has conceived of me and I share her looks, blue eyes and red-brown hair. As for my character, I’m afraid I’m no good judge at it and I’ll leave it to your own good sense for scrutiny, my lady._

_We’ve not had many bards and musicians here up North so you can say we haven’t developed a taste for it, but you’re very welcome to play. I’m excited at the prospect to see and hear you play one of your instruments._

_And I do prefer riding, hawking and hunting and sword-fighting than reading and dancing, my lady but I’m willing to meet you half-way. I could teach you how to ride and hawk, if you want._

_Safe travels to you and the rest of your party._

_And I do await your arrival, future wife._

_Signed,_

_Lord Robb of House Stark_

 

#

 

 

The air was cold and bracing atop the Wall as Jon Stark watched the sun go down, turning the western sky the color of blood, the land beyond the fortification being slowly engulfed by the trickling night. The prince wondered if Sansa would call the place an enchantment if she ever saw it for herself, remembering that time they’ve read about the massive barrier from Lomas Longstrider’s book Wonders Made by Man, and she gushed about how magic was real to have brought about entirely a long stretch of wall made of solid ice (he did point out to her that the fortification was also made of stone and earth but she chose not to hear of it, crinkling her nose to him for spoiling her fun). Still, Jon pondered whether the princess would cry at the rare harsh beauty of the place. _She could be reduced to tears at the most random things, and I love her for it._ Then, he heard the creaks of the pulleys and the winch men when a very familiar voice called out to him.

“So you’ve come to the Wall again!”

“I did indeed,” he turned to greet his brother Egg and was startled with his new look. Gone was his long silver locks that Jon as a kid envied once upon a time, when he was still resentful that he didn’t look the same as Father even though he sired him, resentful at the disappointed looks thrown his way when they learned he’s a Targaryen prince who didn’t look the same as his fabled ancestors. His brother was now sporting a very short cropped hair which was a stark contrast to his Night’s Watch garb, his fair complexion, now windburnt.

Egg grabbed him in a fierce embrace and Jon returned it with matching enthusiasm. It has been a year since they last saw each other, Egg was still adjusting to his life as a new recruit to the military order then when Jon, newly named heir to the realm, first came to the Wall for an errand from their King: to broker peace with the King Beyond the Wall Mance Rayder with the help of the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and to welcome the Wildings— _no_ , _Free folk_ , to the Seven Kingdoms to escape starvation and sickness that plagued the lands north of the Wall in exchange for their help with the North’s last harvest before the arrival of winter, and their help to subdue the ironmen still hell-bent in restoring the Old Way with Euron Greyjoy as their new leader. The monumental plan, said to be a lasting legacy of King Rhaegar, First of His Name, was slowly coming to fruition especially as his cousin Robb and Uncle Brandon were actively promoting their cause to the rest of the Northern houses so that they would be amiable to the terms the free folk had asked for their end of the bargain. It has only been four moons since the free folk have settled to the different garrisons of the Wall, passing Mole’s Town, their camp reaching as far Brandon’s Gift and the New Gift, and to date skirmishes between the Northerners and the free folk have started to dwindle down.

Jon looked at his brother before him, now a ranger and man of the Night’s Watch and he felt his heart swell with pride. “It’s so good to see you’re doing well here.”

“Patrolling the haunted forest, climbing the mountain range of the Frostfangs, gods Jon I’ve been to the Frozen Shore! I’d never thought to see so much variations of ice and coldness to last me a lifetime. I can even say now without much sarcasm that I like my life here even though I couldn’t stop complaining about my other chores when I’m not ranging.”

Jon openly laughed at that. “How very princely. It’s always about the chores with you, Your Grace.”

Egg met that with a grimace. “Come now, we have an order of stewards! You’d think we’d be covered from doing them, but even with the coming of the free folk we’re still burdened about maintenance of the Wall, maintenance of the castles and a whole lot more.”

Jon raised both his hands in surrender. “Egg… I already had this talk with the Lord Commander just this afternoon when you were outside the Wall. And the lord made sure to drill me the list your order needs to bring up to the King.”

His brother winced at that. “Couldn’t have been much fun, that.” Then he sat on the freshly scattered gravel on the icy footpath atop the Wall where the portion of the warming shed was currently deserted by men on watch-duty that time, gesturing for Jon to do the same. “So how are you holding up, south of the Neck?” And then Egg snorted, “Gods, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying that line now. Did you know Rhaenys banned me from using it when I write her letters?”

“I can imagine.” Jon said, as he too sat next to his brother overlooking half of the world now completely eaten up by darkness. The top of the Wall was wide enough for a dozen armored knights to ride abreast. The prince’s eyes roamed the gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes standing sentry up here, like they were skeletons of great birds. “I’m doing fine… learning the trade, just not in the capital.”

His brother inclined his head to him, but did not turn his way completely when he said, “I heard from Rhaenys how much grief you’ve been giving the Lord Connington of your travels, of staying away from the Red Keep in long stretches of moons. I approve of the former, by the way. Not so much the latter due to the rise of outlaws and brigands.”

The prince sighed. “You both don’t really have to worry about me. Ser Jaime’s my company, the best sworn sword and shield one could ever ask for. And I’m not without my own skills… besides, the knight and his brother gives me good counsel whenever we were sent to broker deals on behalf of the King.”

“His brother? Lord Tyrion Lannister?” Egg fully turned to him now, his brows were raised; clearly this was news to him.

“Yes. It was weird at first,” answered Jon, stretching his legs on the crushed stones as he has been standing for quite a long while before Egg’s arrival. “We haven’t really talked outside basic pleasantries in the court but he requested to join our party when we were on our way to Dorne to discuss Lady Arianne’s… whereabouts and sentence being a co-conspirator against the crown to Prince Doran.”

“You talking to my Uncle about Arianne?” Egg’s purple eyes bore to him, dubious. “Pray tell how did that one go?”

The prince heaved another sigh as he fought the urge to scrub his face from embarrassment. “I almost butchered everything, Egg. The King suspects Dorne’s hiding Arianne and their coin may have been loaned to Uncle Vis to pay the pirates for their scheme of attacking… the ships,” and Jon paused, feeling pinpricks in his chest at remembering what caused for them to lose Sansa in the first place. “And I all but said it to his face when Lord Tyrion saved me. I guess, that was really the King’s intention when he sent him with us. I was never really good at bargaining and negotiating and Lord Tyrion’s ever the diplomat, he’s been kind to show me the ropes without sugarcoating the way Lord Connington often does. I understand your uncle’s caution, of his fears for his own daughter, but in the end Lord Tyrion managed to persuade him in allowing us to perform a three-day search in Sunspear as gesture of goodwill to the crown and ever since then I welcome Lord Tyrion’s counsel.”

“Welcome enough to name the Imp as Hand, in the future?” gauged Egg.

Jon looked at his brother in the eye, at once defensive for the lord. “I see no better one suited to the task, to be honest. Lord Tyrion’s a brilliant man.”

Egg waved a hand to dismiss the prince’s tone. “I didn’t say he’s incompetent, and I know from the few times I’ve talked to him that he’s not a nodding sycophant. But he has this uncanny ability to unnerve you, doesn’t he?”

The prince shrugged. “Just like the current Hand, I’d say.”

“I guess…” And then his brother latched on to another subject with a shake of his head, blurting, “I still can’t believe about Arianne’s role in all this. True, she’s always been the ambitious sort, but I don’t think she’d willingly put Sansa in harm’s way.”

“Neither do I. But she’s not around to clear her name.”

They lulled back to silence after that, the brisk wind atop passing them and Jon welcomed the added chill it brought.

“Egg…” he started, looking at the shadow of his brother casted by the fire at their side, “I just want to know if I’m alone in thinking that she’s…” _alive? Do you think Sansa’s still alive?_ “I’ve looked for her, so did Ser Brynden, but we couldn’t find any lead on her and Ser Arthur’s whereabouts.”

His brother didn’t answer him right away, prompting for him to think he didn’t hear his question the first time. Then he saw Egg’s shadow moved and felt him stand on his feet. “You know, Rhaenys went to Castle Black with her infant child to watch over me when news of Sansa’s true state broke out. She feared that I’d kill myself over it so she asked Father to hold out the announcement until she and her husband arrived here.” He walked a few paces towards the edge of the Wall and then turned around to face him, “Can you imagine her looking after her daughter Rhaena, and I, a pitiful novice of the Black? You should have seen how she made a fuss about it to the Lord Commander! Demanding that the commander spare me of heavy training,” and his brother laughed loudly, though there was a hollow ringing to it. “In truth I could take this fall,” Egg gestured to the precipice. “It was so easy... it’s only a few steps to my doom. I’ve entertained about it Jon, many times since that first day I learned Sansa perished from the pirate attacks. I could, however, feel it deep that she’s still alive somewhere. So there was no need, really, for Rhaenys to look after me. I sent her away after staying here for a fortnight. My southron niece and her little lungs was not perfect for the harsh winds here…” Egg walked back to Jon’s side again and crouched down before him.

“I know Sansa’s alive, never mind what the rest of the world thinks. And I know you do too, that’s why you hesitate to pursue Margaery, or whoever your intended is.”

Jon looked down at his legs. “I did all I could to prolong my betrothal but you know Father’s ultimatum.”

“On your eighteenth nameday,” Egg nodded, pulled his cloak tighter with his left hand. “Born as next in line to inherit the throne and the Seven Kingdoms, I could have anything I wanted, given anything I wanted, but faced with Sansa’s safety I’d gladly give up everything. She’s all I ever wanted, Jon. From the time I learned what love truly meant, she’s the only one I’ve ever looked at…”

And Jon could clearly hear the ‘ _but_ ’ at his brother’s trailing words.

  
“…I’m beginning to find there might be someone else for me, here.” There was a catch in Egg’s voice and the prince found he couldn’t look up to face him. “Sometimes, I think I didn’t love Sansa enough, else why am I straying? Why am I feeling these stirrings with… someone?”

Jon may have known that _Someone_. He’s been loitering the top of the Wall all afternoon, after his meeting with the Lord Commander, and he thought he saw his brother (even though looking like an ant from way up, he couldn’t mistake his silver hair glinting in the light for anyone else’s) with someone, a _free folk woman_. The two of them appeared to stay behind, and then went to the haunted forest for hours on end, when Egg’s fellow rangers have long returned to the Wall after their routine patrol. “I don’t know, Egg,” he said weakly. “But I do know you loved her with all you’ve got, and that people fall out of love too. Sometimes, it’s just as simple as that.”

“Not with you though.”

“I do wish I have that certainty. But lately, with pressures to marry, I oft think that if the bad things didn’t happen at the Red Keep and that Sansa’s still with us, would she ever have me?”

“Gods, Jon!” Egg placed both his hands on his shoulder forcing him to look up at his brother. And Egg, red-faced, looked like he badly wanted to shake him out of his mind. “You’ve been in Sansa’s thoughts and prayers ever since you stepped foot in the capital. You didn’t know how much I—how much I resented you then. There hasn’t been a day that she didn’t mention you in passing, or talked about you in great length. Your letters were the high points of her day. You know… I’ve even entertained thoughts of our lives swapping just so I could have the same amount of attention she’s been giving you and that’s when I realized that I’ve already lost her to you.”

“Egg… I didn’t know…”

“Stop. You said it yourself, sometimes love is really as simple as that.”

“I just thought… that wherever Sansa may be, she may have wished not to come back at all. I knew how the crown has hurt her, how it had disappointed her. And if… you know, the love she bore me… was not enough for her to come back, I can understand. Hells, even I’m currently distancing myself from King’s Landing.”

“Does that mean… you’re finally considering the marriage proposals?”

“I promised I’d wait for _her_ —”

“It’s a vow you made to yourself Jon, and not to Sansa herself. And Jon, you may not want to hear this but you and Father are so alike than what you’ve thought. You both are solitary creatures. I’m not. He’s fond of my mother, he may love your mother more but in truth he’s lonely for the most part. And I don’t want that for you. You may not love the bride Father shall pick for you, but you could at least make it so that your soon-to-be wife is agreeable for you.”

In truth, Jon came to Castle Black thinking he’d hear from Egg that he shouldn’t give up waiting on Sansa, that he shouldn’t move on so easily, because Egg of all people, share the same feelings he has for her! That same as Jon, he’d been looking forward to seeing her again, that everyday he’s not seeing her, he feared that he’d forget her face, how clear as sky her eyes were, how her auburn hair would catch the sunlight making it burn, how she smiled at him with dimples on her chin, how she’d become so cross when he taunted her about looking like a pomegranate, how she’d raise her chin and look down on him in silent disagreement, how she’d stitch fabrics with a crease on her forehead, how she’d struggle composing herself even though her insides were screaming from excitement— _now_ though, everyone’s been adamant that he forget, that he cast her aside; if he’s not allowed to put her as priority, then who will?

Of course, he couldn’t begrudge his brother of his newfound happiness here: with his new role, with his new loved one, but it doesn’t mean he’d have to abide to his advice, to not cling to a missing girl, to not hold onto a love lost, bugger all who think it pathetic of him.

“It sounds like I’m picking a wife from an orchard,” the prince finally answered, rather tartly.

“A very wide orchard, you mean. Rhaenys’ pushing Margaery to you, I know there was talk of Asha Greyjoy from the Iron Islands—”

“Yes, there was an offer from her. And the King’s considering it to gain alliance to the rest of the ironmen still loyal to the crown in order to gain advantage over Euron’s army.”

“And then there is a Myrcella Tully and a Shireen Baratheon, right?”

“Yes. How did you manage before, brother?”

Egg again laughed, this time more heartily as he let go of Jon’s shoulders and opted to fully lie down on the compacted gravel and fixated his gaze towards the stars. “For the longest time Jon, I told Father I’m not interested with women. That like Uncle Oberyn, I fancy men, but _only_ men. He took it all in stride but afterwards not once did he open the topic of marriage proposals again. Of course I blew it when Sansa started favoring you more than me, even when you’re not in the capital anymore, that I acted sullen and often lashed out like the big spoiled brat that I was, that when I became too unbearable for Sansa, she complained about it to Father. That’s how he knew that his son holds a candle for his little sister. I think, for a time, he even was amenable for Sansa and me to marry but then you went ahead and complicated things…” There was no venom in Egg’s words when he said the last bit. “Remember that day Rhaenys and Willas got married, when Loras Tyrell asked Sansa to be his dance partner during the revelries? One too many times, that you got up to the floor, you who stewed and cursed under your breath for every dance lessons we’ve had, and claimed Sansa’s hands for the rest of the night?”

“Yes,” even now, the memory warmed Jon’s cheeks for how thickheaded he’d been. Sansa was amused and annoyed at the same time since she wanted to dance with several other knights and lordlings back then.

“Father and I shared a look then and he told me I’ve got a very ‘serious’ opponent in you. And I did love challenges, especially as I was sure you’ve already won more than half of the princess’ heart then.” Egg huffed, his breath leaving imprints on the air. “That time seems a world away now.”

Jon blew out a breath too. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Egg shot back.

“Has your ladylove she been pushing for marriage?”

“Oh, Val? She doesn’t mind the wait. We’ve not really talked about it, we’re not even at that point, little brother. Marriages are a different matter with the free folk. No politics involved. Purely love… or lust. Lust, mostly.”

Jon raised a brow. “Celibacy has long been abolished in the order, right?”

“True, but we’ll be required to take off the black if we ever find ourselves wanting to start a family though. And this is why we constantly lose members too. The Wall, though a beauty, is not the best partner in life. When it really comes down it and Val gets tired of waiting, I guess she’d just steal me.”

“But you’ve fallen for it too, haven’t you?” said Jon, patting at the fortification of ice under them.

Egg’s lips curled in a genuine smile. “Yes. Everyone’s honor and duty bound here, even the rapers and thieves and killers… you can’t imagine how hard it was to think of them as my new brothers at first. I guess having you was practice enough—

“Careful,” Jon warned halfheartedly.

His brother sniggered and went on, “—that I, raised with silver spoon, didn’t really stop to think of those below my station. I know to treat them gently but I couldn’t empathize, not until that _night_ happened and I ended up here. When one has nothing, honor and duty are all they’ll ever cling to when given the chance to reform. And I even think the Wall would suit you, Jon. I already know you’re married to honor and duty in the capital. It’s quite the same here, just without the court intrigue.”

Jon ran a hand to through his curls. “You drive a hard bargain, brother.”

“Just think! Two men of the Night’s Watch from the current line of the royal family. Hardly scandalous.”

The prince met that with a shake of his head and a grin pulling taut his lips.

“You lads finished with your bone-deep conversation?” said a man, joining their side of the warming shed and holding out skeins of wine from within his cloak.

“Uncle Benjen,” uttered Jon, straightening his back as he looked up to his uncle’s sharp face and blue eyes regarding them with an easy smile.

Egg reached for the offered drink and gestured to his brother, “I’m recruiting His Grace to the Night’s Watch. He’d be a good ranger, don’t you think? He has a thick skin for the cold from his time in the Eyrie.”

“I do think our prince would make a fine ranger,” agreed Uncle Benjen. “I’ve heard how sad the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights was to let you go and your own dealing with the outlaws down south.”

Jon flexed his right hand, tongue-tied at his uncle’s praise; this was a mannerism he’d fostered after his hand got burned a year and a half ago. After, Jon was able to resume with Egg’s and Uncle Benjen’s talk when they told him stories about their encounters with supposed wargs in the free folk community. And the prince’s night was filled with tales from the lands beyond the Wall.

 

***

 

Jon was at the rookery the morning before his departure for Winterfell, having sent a raven to Uncle Brandon and Robb, letting them know of his impending arrival, just as he’d promised to do. He also sent one letter to King’s Landing for his lady mother to ease her worried mind (and to ease his own guilt)—gods knew how badly he’d treated her by leaving her behind in the Red Keep, ignoring her pleas to stay at the capital and be the King’s shadow in all his affairs relating to the crown.

Grand Maester Aemon found him then feeding the ravens. “I dreamed of the Princess Sansa, Your Grace,” he declared as his way of greeting him. “Nothing that makes sense, but then again, dreams often are.”

The prince carefully closed the ravens’ cages before turning to face his great great uncle. King Rhaegar often shared how he thought the Grand Maester’s dreams were prophetic and Jon would hear anything that concerned Sansa.

“What did you see, Grand Maester? Did you recall a memory?”

“No. In my dreams, I saw her playing in the snow. And the princess’ a summer child. Might be all this talk of winter has addled me. I am far too old, as you can very well see.”

“Winter _is_ coming,” he automatically spewed. Soon, the Seven Kingdoms will be covered with snow, making it all the more hard to find where she is. Every trail to trace Sansa and Ser Arthur’s whereabouts had gone cold and right now, he’d take anything, may it be a fickle sign such as a vision in a dream. “Isn’t there anything else?” the prince pushed.

The maester looked upwards, his unseeing eyes seemed to regard the skies before him. “It’s something general, a feeling, Your Grace. I look at her and felt treachery surrounding her whilst playing in the snow.”

_That’s rather ill-omened_ , and the prince has had enough of it! Why couldn’t the gods just leave her be? _Why couldn’t I be at her side to shield her from these terrors?_

Jon felt a gentle hand cradle his face. He towered Grand Maester Aemon now, but when he’s holding him like this, he felt a green boy still, being welcomed to the court for the first time and in awe with the palace and the power it seemed to hold. How wrong he’d been.

“I noticed from your letters, and from your time here that you haven’t been calling the King, your ‘ _father,_ ’ Jon. When in other company, I can understand. But you’re here with me, bonded by blood and history. Are you still angry at him?”

“These days? When am I not?”

“I have seen ten kings upon the Iron Throne now. Many good men have been bad kings and some bad men have been good kings, this I know. And the history books will tell you too. Rhaegar has his mind and heart in their right places when it comes to ruling for he has learned to kill the boy within him a long time ago.”

“The boy within?”

“Yes, same as anyone really,” then the maester pulled his bony fingers from Jon’s face and seemed to appraise him no matter that he’s long been sightless now. “You still have the boy in you, Jon Stark. An innocence and sweetness that lets you cling to the summer of your youth. And yet, winter is almost upon us. You have to kill the boy and let the man be born, the man who will do your duty to the realm and face the threat of the ironborns. I do think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done.”

Oh, everyone’s been expecting him to do just that, so he blurted a bit incensed but not all at the expense of the maester, “Like marrying for duty?”

Grand Maester Aemon only cracked a silver thin brow at him. “You’re not even the first to do that, I’m sure you know. I’ve found that love is the bane of honor, the death of duty.”

“But the gods have fashioned us for love, didn’t you always say Grand Maester? What are honor and duty if I could see and hold Sansa again?”

“Did you mean to take her as your queen? Does she even want that after all that came to pass?”

How like the wise measter to dredge the root of Jon’s insecurities—marrying for duty was one thing, but would he ever have the strength to face a life without the princess by his side, if she did reject him, if she left him to be alone in the Red Keep after all? And those were horrible thoughts, so unfair to what Sansa has been through, and yet such thoughts kept coming back to him just when he thought they’d finally receded over time. It’s worse now, when he’s being cornered to marry a complete stranger.

“I don’t know,” the prince answered forlornly, “But isn’t it the man in me now that continues to love? And I swear to you that it’ll be the man in me that will think of ways to defeat Euron’s forces without subjecting myself to the machinations of the crown.”

“Then I’ll be happy to be proven wrong, Your Grace. Above all, I do want to see you happy, Jon.” And when the Grand Maester opened his arms to him, the prince gladly went to his side for an embrace. After, he asked the maester to look after his brother, to which he’d replied that he always will. That seemed to be the extent of their parting, and so Jon decided to come down from the rookery. He met Ser Jaime downstairs, informing him that their horses were now saddled and ready for leaving.

 

***

 

“Surely the Night’s Watch can spare you for your brother’s nameday feast?” asked Jon to Egg when he’s riding atop his brown palfrey named Spirit, the animal shaking his head and stretching his neck with a satisfied snort.

“You could say the heir to the realm’s nameday feast, to add more weight to it,” supplied Ser Jaime.

The prince reined his horse in, rolling his eyes at the knight. “It’s going to be held in Winterfell this time. A joint celebration with the North’s last harvest. There’s even a tourney.”

Egg folded his arms on his chest. “I’m not so sure the Lord Commander would be so agreeable. Our vows are slightly stricter than the southron knights.”

“I’d sweeten the deal. Promise him new recruits and supplies,” Jon said loud enough for the lord commander to hear. Him, and a few other men of import from the Night’s Watch gathered around the armory to see the prince off.

The old man fixed the prince a stern gaze, but as Jon was already used to be on the receiving end of such a stare, he met it with a set jaw. Then the lord commander gifted him the smallest of smiles and the smallest of nods as he caressed his pet raven perched on his left hand. “Remember to put it in writing, lest you forget, lad.”

_Or so I could be held accountable, you mean lord commander._ But the prince nodded too, and readied Spirit for the march.

“What a political savvy mind you’ve got there,” teased Egg.

Jon smirked. “As I’ve said, I’ve been learning the trade. See you at Winterfell in a moon’s turn then brother.”

 

#

 

 

_My dearest Robb,_

_My son, my firstborn son, I imagine you now a young man, on the cusp of your adulthood. Mayhaps, already set to marry someone (a ladylove or an arranged sort, I could only pray to the gods that you’d be happy in time—I was, and still am, happy to have known and loved your Father Ned. And even in the bad days, my love for him and you both win over every single thought of regret)._

_I just couldn’t help but be brought to tears, but these days, what little of things could make me happy anymore, when I try to envision you in a body of a seven-and-ten year old man. I have only ever laid eyes on you when you were still a squalling babe, with little wisps of your auburn hair and clear blue eyes, same as how I look. It hurts me something fierce that fate has denied me of watching you grow and knowing any other else’s hands, voice and love but my own. But I’d swallow it all down, knowing that you’re safe and sound in the North._

_By this time, reading my letter, you will have other teachers in the form of Lord Brandon and his wife Lady Ashara (my gratitude to them, eternal). A second set of parents loving you as much as Ned and I do, to present you with the wonders of the world and how to face and survive its cruelties. I imagined you a strong young man. And allow me now to give you my own counsel to guide you forwards: what is essential, my son Robb, is that you be a man wise and effective in this world and pleasing to the gods in every way. Do not forget your family, your duty, and honor that you must always uphold._

_Know that not anyone like me, your mother who’s been imprisoned in the capital, my heart burns on your behalf, but I wish that you be free of the burden of court intrigue. I urge you my beloved son not to be distracted by seeking revenge on those you may deemed wronged us._

_All I ever want now is for you to seek your own happiness. Above all else._

_And as always, I ask for your forgiveness. That by this time, you can now understand the choices your father and I made._

_Someone who will always love you,_

_Lady Catelyn_

 

Robb Stark harken back to that letter of Mother’s as the people around him argued, gathered before the hearth in their permanently dimly-lit gallery. That letter was only one of many that his lady mother wrote for him, when he was still a babe being smuggled secretly to the North while she prepared herself to wed King Aerys then. His true lord father Eddard Arryn, gathered these letters in a chest, and gifted it to him when truth of his parentage was finally revealed when he’s one and ten. Mother had written him letters with specific instructions to open them when he reached a specific age and they proved to be cathartic growing up as a kept secret of the North. He didn’t hate what his true parents had done, no matter how he used to fiercely dream of a world where they’d be allowed to live together in one house, because both his parents provided him another good option and chance in life as Lord Brandon and Lady Ashara’s son. He may be tagged as ‘baseborn’, or a ‘legitimized bastard’, but he’s a Stark through and through, by the Father who sired him, and by the man who raised him.

Robb was brought out of his contemplation when he heard Great Uncle Brynden’s rough voice, rising as if he wanted to shout. “I will not forget what that family has done to mine. We should’ve chosen war than suffer this fate in the end. I’ve failed Cat. I’ve failed Cat and Sansa both.” Ser Byrnden voice’s was filled with as much bitterness as it was sad.

Robb reached out to his Great Uncle to grip his arm hand, wanting to convey that he still has him. His Great Uncle closed his eyes then and let out a shudder. After, he’d composed himself and nodded at Robb, covering the hand he’d placed with his own. He’d spied his true father Ned sigh deeply, standing before the hearth and eyes transfixed on the fire. This blank face was a mask Robb knew well, what Father always sported when talk of his broken family keep being dredged by those in-the-know.

“I fear that even as you despise the presence of His Grace, he and his court’s coming to join us as we speak, as daily reminders of colors from across Westeros come to pay homage to the joining of the Twins and Wolf. Much preparation has already taken place for the celebration besides,” Father Ned absently countered.

Great Uncle looked even more infuriated, but he only gritted his teeth and did not say anything more.

“There is much in the kingdom to occupy their time,” Mother Ashara commented lightly whilst seated next to Father Brandon at the side of the hearth. She was knitting Robb’s bridal cloak judging by the spools of yarn, thread and wolf hide laid at her feet. “Matters of war with the ironborn first and foremost, and to bend the ‘absentee prince’ to their will.”

Robb stretched on the seat opposite his second parents and folded his arms to his chest. “Are people really calling Jon that, when he acts as the King’s envoy to gain support from Houses all throughout the realm?” he thought aloud. “They should be reminded that it was the prince’s idea to let the Wildl—Free… free folk pass through the Wall and to unite the mountain clans of the Eyrie in order to amass additional forces if needed for the war.”

“A subject that is still most sore for the Northerners and us Valemen, since we’re recruiting our former enemies to join our cause… and each Houses, big or small, have a long memory of their own,” his true father Ned said, voice still in monotone as if he’s not really having a conversation with them. “What the prince has done was nothing short of a noble endeavor, but we’ve yet to see its fruits and we’re pressed for time as the ironborn employed sellswords on their side.”

“At least the free folk and the mountain clans’ loyalty do not hang on the promise of coin,” Great Uncle noted. Despite his resentment at the royal family, they all knew the knight held a soft spot for the Crown Prince.

“But whether the King or courtier is present here, the North shall not have seen a wedding such as my son’s own in some time,” Mother Ashara expressed with pride, “Just think of the tourney to be held after.”

“And all the work it’s putting us. I’ve always hated managing the ledgers,” Father Brandon quipped and then smiled ruefully at Mother’s glare, because that task was left to Robb and Mother, as Father always made a mess of it. Sobering, his second lord father said, “I think the tourney is an extravagance the realm cannot afford.”

“I said so to Jon… but he knew my loved of jousting and he said it’s a perfect gift for me and the North, to coincide with the Last Harvest.” Robb said guiltily.

Finally, Father Ned turned his back to the fire and faced their group. He looked at Robb and explained, “Those are true for the most part, but I think Jon planned it in a way so he could make his lady mother come home too.”

It never failed to stun him, Jon’s cleverness. Of the three of them: Robb, Harry and Jon, the young lord could honestly say that the prince has always been the perceptive one. When he glanced around the room, he has just confirmed that the rest of them knew it, and have already talked about it, and Robb couldn’t help the tiniest bit of jealousy bloom in his chest. Jon and Father Ned have a lot of things in common, in how their faces were carved, how long they could stay silent, how grief-stricken their grey eyes were, how they could be reserved to the point of being cold, how they share the same unwavering sense of honor and justice and how they both intensely believed that Princess Sansa was still alive, and Robb found he wouldn’t cling to that fickle hope… he did hope once that he’d meet his birth mother before and where did that thought and prayers led him? _A void of heartache and misery._ Besides, he rationalized that how could he mourn something he never truly had? And if there’s one thing he shared with his birth father and the prince, it’s how he knew to guard his heart well.

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ripped from Phaedrus’ words “Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.”
> 
> *ended up writing this whole chapter so long so I decided to post it in two parts, 2nd part coming right up~~


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein someone learned not everything was as it seemed and another came to know of what has been carefully hidden*

Through the snowy fields Alayne spied a huge castle spanning several acres. There was a wide moat in between and guard turrets on the outer wall, and over the stoney ridges and grey granite they approached, the maid could make out the colors: Grey and White. _So this is Winterfell._

A line of horsemen appear before them as soon as they reached two huge crenelated bulwarks which flank an arched gate. They were strong in number and noble in bearing, and with a start Alayne realized that they were lords of the Northern houses due to the different sigils they wore on their doublet, though much were obscured by the heavy furs they wear to decipher them. Before them flapped the Stark Direwolf and the sound of pipes and whistles were being carried on the wind.

A welcoming horn resonated through the fields of snow. And not very long after, the mighty gates of Winterfell opened, and there formed a greeting guard. At the forefront was the banner of Starks, ready to greet the bride-to-be, her immediate family and the rest of their party.

The music erupted louder as the men and one noble woman spurred forth their mounts, making up the greeting party.

Alayne spied the smallest of smiles curved Lady Roslin’s lips. The two of them had foregone the litter now, both riding saddled palfreys when they neared the end of their journey. Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder’s heir, spurred his own riding horse to meet the greeting party. The rest of them followed suit, and Lord Walfrey opened the curtains of his own litter, unable to ride on his own steed because of his gout. He was the one who addressed the greeting party and spoke to the lord in the center when they came close enough to each other.

“A grand and honorable gesture, Lord Stark,” the old lord said with the slightest raise of his right brow.

The Warden of the North Lord Brandon Stark only shrugged. He was tall even seated on his beautiful black destrier; he has grey eyes like their own banner, and despite his age, Alayne could still see how handsome he is. He smiled at them cordially, saying, “We only give our soon-to-be family what’s due of them. Welcome to Winterfell, lords and ladies.” He proceeded to introduce the rest of the greeting party to them: the only woman was his lady wife, the lovely Lady Ashara Stark, to his left was his younger brother Lord Eddard Arryn and his son Harrold Arryn (Alayne’s own party murmured their own cheerful greeting as she later learned that they were lords from the Eyrie, the former being the current Warden of the East; the maid’s heart throbbed, having met them when she took _Stone_ as her surname feeling acutely like the mummer she was), and the man to his right was Ser Brynden Tully (this, Alayne noted with another trepidation, he’s the younger brother of their liege, Lord Hoster Tully, and an infamous knight besides: Brynden the _Blackfish_ , a veteran of half a hundred battles. House Frey deffered to the knight and Ser Stevron and Lord Walder expressed their surprise at him being in the North, to which the Blackfish only replied that he came as House Tully’s envoy to the fetes). After, Lord Brandon raised his right gloved hand to beckon someone, and a young man, that’s yet to be introduced, guided his horse forward while placing his right hand upon his chest and bowed his auburn hair to them.

“I’m Robb Stark and I also welcome you all to our home.”

Her lady inhaled sharply and mumbled under her breath for only Alayne to hear, “Yours is a sight most welcome at the end of a long journey.” Alayne suppressed a giggle, but she shared her lady’s sentiment—the young lord was very pleasant to behold, handsome in his surcoat and cloak trimmed with furs and pinned at his shoulder with a silver broach, its design predictably that of a wolf.

Just then, Lord Robb Stark’s blue eyes flickered to them, and a small smirk graced his lips suggesting that he plainly heard his intended’s murmurs despite the noise from the pipes and whistles. “My lady is a welcome sight also,” he’d said. There was no hint of any malice from his twinkling blue eyes.

And yet, Lady Roslin answered that with a gasp, ducking her head and grasping Alayne’s hands for strength as the tips of her ears reddened, visible for all to see because of her chosen coiled braids hairstyle.

A silence descended their party. The maid felt bad for her friend as she was certain this wasn’t what she visualized her first impression on her betrothed to be. Lord Brandon Stark regarded the scene with amusement, exchanging a few whispers with his wife, and took that as his cue to offer them bread and salt.

Lord Walder clucked his tongue and that seemed to be the extent of his reprimand to his daughter. Her lady looked pointedly at the cold hard ground and Alayne could only supply the young lord still looking at his intended with curiosity and a small smile, with a faint smile of her own.

After the perfunctory guest right, their party was ushered inside the walls. Glancing around, Alayne saw about twenty more people gathered to welcome them, no doubt the welcoming music spread word that the Frey party have finally arrived. As they entered winter town, the gates behind them closed. The settlement outside the castle was filled with northmen from throughout the region, judging by the litters of clansmen in the area. Alayne remembered how the village earned the name: usually deserted during summer time, but it would fill up once winter arrived with smallfolk and merchants. She also recalled stories of how some townsfolk claimed that Winterfell was warmed by a dragon which slept below the castle, and no matter how preposterous, at least that kind of legend seemed logical to explain how the castle managed to have warm walls within. Of course, it was Olyvar who enlightened her that Winterfell has been built around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs, that the water was piped through walls and chambers to heat them, making Winterfell more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters. _And winter is coming._

“I didn’t mean to shame you back there, my lady,” heard Alayne from the young lord Robb Stark; in her ruminations, she didn’t notice that the lord has finished catching up with Ser Perwyn and Olyvar and has now sidled close to Lady Roslin and her as they amble through winter town and onwards to Winterfell’s Great Keep, and has apparently been striking up a conversation with her mistress. Now, that would be deemed improper if they didn’t have a chaperone with them and so the maid urged her palfrey to her left to edge closer to the two.

She looked around her and noted that the two were being left to their own devices by the rest of their family. Lord Brandon and his wife, with their own horses were trotting beside Lord Walder’s litter, Ser Stevron and Ser Ryman Frey joining in their exchange. Ser Perwyn and Olyvar has moved down the line of their train to bark out orders, while the Warden of the East, his son and Ser Brynden Tully lagged in the procession, chatting amongst themselves.

When she looked back ahead, she saw Lady Roslin’s hands tightened upon the reins, cheeks still red and sheepish. “I didn’t think you mean to, my lord. How must I look to you now!”

The young lord appeared baffled. “How you look to me?”

“Yes… like a—a—” her lady tried to fish for the right word but it was currently escaping her as seen from her furrowed brows.

“An honest woman?” supplied Lord Robb Stark. “Didn’t we promise on the onset that we’d be honest to each other?”

Lady Roslin sighed but still refused to look at her betrothed.

The young lord scratched his neatly trimmed beard, flushing at something he just thought of. “If—if it helps, I really think you’re a welcome sight. Cheeks flushed in the cold and looking conspiratorially with your handmaiden. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone lovelier.”

And her mistress whipped her head to the lord then, her big brown eyes widening even more with the lord’s admission. Alayne could also feel her heart race at that. _The lord’s honey-tongued… but looks to be the genuine sort?_

“I hope the gifts that have been prepared for you suit to your tastes,” added the lord hastily, now ready to change their topic altogether.

Lady Roslin finally gifted her betrothed a sincere smile. “You are too kind, my lord, I can only hope my own gifts will bring as much pleasure.” 

Nodding, he looked around and swung himself from the saddle. They were now in an inner courtyard. He handed the reigns of his spirited mount to a nearby servant, then moved to help his bride from the saddle. Accepting the assistance of her groom, Lady Roslin dismounted lightly—and when she stood on her own two feet, it was apparent her head barely reached his betrothed’s shoulder—and from there she must look up to his face. Her lady did not seem to mind the gap in their statures and proudly raised her chin to the young lord. Lord Robb Stark gave her a nod of what seemed to be an approval of sorts and helped Alayne down from her own steed, already agreeable to the thought that they would have no privacy so long as her maid’s around, until her marriage to the lord at the turn of the moon, roughly three weeks to come.

The rest of their company caught up to them, and soon the walls echoed with the raucous jests of the many Frey lords and ladies and their own retinues.

Lord Robb offered his hand to Lady Roslin. “Come, my lady, let me see if I can entertain you tales of my home, if you haven’t heard them yet from your Maester’s lessons. Or refreshments first! You must be weary from travel—”

Just then a big wolf bounded to them that caused her lady to shriek (and a few other men from their party to shout in surprise) and to hold on to her intended past the proper decorum would allow. Alayne stood still, shaking not because she found the beast fearsome, but because she was suddenly seized by images flashing inside her head—of a similar wolf with grey fur and yellow eyes. Of _a_ grey wolf with ribbons tied to her furs and following daintily her footsteps in a long corridor. Of her brushing the wolf’s grey furs and bathing her in a tub with the fire roaring in the hearth—and then she was gripped with grief like no other.

“Grey Wind, halt!” boomed the young lord but the wolf happily sniffed Lady Roslin, circling them and nudging their legs before its big head perked up, its own yellow eyes fixing on Alayne and looked to trot towards her direction.

“Grey Wind!” tried Lord Robb Stark again, voice full of warning and ire, and this time the wolf heeded his master’s words, his ears flattened and he whined at the back of his throat as he stopped in his tracks.

The maid staggered to keep her balance and Lady Roslin saw it, opting not to hide from her intended’s back to reach for Alayne’s trembling frame. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know…”

Her lady’s hands went to her face to wipe tears that she didn’t know were flowing down her own eyes. “It’s okay. The wolf seemed to be just playing with us, see?” and she inclined her head to the big wolf, now wagging its tail enthusiastically at the two of them with his tongue lolling.

“I’m so sorry, my ladies,” Robb Stark said as he too walked towards them, his right hand reaching for his nape while his other hand placed a firm grip on his wolf’s head, scratching at his furs in the process. “I’m so sorry my wolf frightened you,” he apologized again. “Grey Wind is not usually this… frenetic. The day’s festivities may have hyped him up.”

“Mayhaps we should postpone the tour around your castle so that Alayne and I could take a few hours of rest.”

“Of course, my lady,” his blue eyes dimmed a little, probably a bit disappointed. “That’s for the best.” He said, looking around for someone then when Lady Ashara Stark came up.

The lady’s violet eyes were filled with concern for Alayne. “I promise you our wolf’s no threat. Still, I can see you both to your rooms so you could unwind there. If you would follow me?”

Lady Roslin curtsied, and Alayne did the same after she ordered for her own self to stop shaking like a leaf. Her mistress still looked worried as she rubbed soothing circles on her back to help her calm down.  Lady Roslin then called for the servants Marden and Tania to follow them with their things and replied to the Lady of Winterfell that they’ll be right behind her.

 

***

 

Three days passed and the incident that happened in the courtyard after Alayne and the Frey party were welcomed to Winterfell has all but been forgotten—considering a feast ensued that same night and talks of the wedding to come and its preparations had been all everyone could spill from their mouths, but not to Lady Roslin. She kept asking as to why she broke down that day and this time the maid couldn’t readily reveal to her mistress what she has remembered then. She remembered having a wolf for herself! That she cared and loved that wolf so deeply, then remembered feeling adrift after she was taken away from her; and how did she lose her? How did she come to her possession in the first place? It was all so confusing to her so she only replied to the Lady Roslin that she’s still trying to make sense of the things she’s seen and promised that she’d tell her eventually when she’s ready. In those three days, she debated writing to Will of what she has remembered, thinking he may be of help to make sense of things, because by then she’d have to entirely come clean to him that she’s been remembering bits of her own past self. And she wouldn’t know how he’d react to all those times of lying to his face. She also justified that when the time came for her to tell the truth, it would be done face-to-face, and not just written on a flimsy parchment.

Now the castle was busy as ever as the talks in the yard shifted from the wedding festivities to having a tourney in the North! And that the King with his entourage were on their way too to Winterfell to join the north’s celebration for their last harvest before winter, happening after her lady and Robb Stark’s wedding. This she’d said as much to the Lady Roslin, keeping her company as they climb the stonework staircase of the Library Tower’s exterior—a testament of how big Winterfell really was to dedicate an entire structure to house books. Her mistress had been giddy when Lord Robb Stark shared this information during their strolls in the godswood, one that they were now trying to keep as a routine inasmuch as she’d tag along with them.

“Knights would come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your union to Lord Robb,” the maid said. “And the King and the Queen would also be present in the tourney!”

“It’s the tourney that’s causing all the trouble with my intended and the Lord Brandon. Why they keep to late nights. Knights indeed have been arriving from all over the realm and with them a few more of the smallfolk, free riders and merchants and who knows, some might be in disguise only to be outlaws and thieves.” Alayne knew her lady was parroting now what Lord Robb has said to her yesterday evening, when she asked him why he wouldn’t be able to join them for supper in the Great Hall. She knew that both House Stark and House Frey now added ‘security’ as part of their plans when they do discuss in Lord Brandon’s solar.

The maid paused in the steps and leaned over the iron railing. This high up, she could see a long stretch of camps in winter town as the travelers settle in for the Northern festivities.

“I think the North also prospers from such events, a chance for glory for the knights, a needed distraction from the impending war, and new doors for the smallfolk.”

Lady Roslin paused too and regarded her maid with a bemused look. “You sound just like Robb.”

_Robb._ Only ‘Robb’ now. It’s only been three days, and they’re now comfortable with each other enough to be dropping titles when the one within hearing didn’t care all that much for propriety. Alayne’s truly happy that they came to such a point when before, on the road, after having received Lord Robb’s reply to her first letter, she lamented and was even brought to tears when the young lord disclosed to her of having a lover prior to their engagement. Her lady did want honesty from her betrothed, but still, it took her two days to send another letter to him, letting that be a bygone. She thought the two of them would have to slowly break that wall after they met, but it seemed that her concerns were unwarranted now.

“People with the same eye-coloring tend to think the same,” she jested.

Lady Roslin chuckled. “We might have to test that theory to others, so you could be proven right.”

“Of course,” she shot back with a turn of her nose. Then she grinned and continued climbing the stairs.

“These stairs seem to go on forever, don’t you think?”

“Yes, they do,” agreed Alayne. “What was it that the twins wanted from the Library Tower again?”

“For this night, they wanted to hear tales from Lomas Longstrider’s book, Wonders Made by Man.” That was another chore the lady wanted to keep a routine too. At first, it was simply part of her plan to please her soon-to-be family. Lord Robb’s parents were gracious to her in every way despite her deemed ‘initial blunder’ at the castle’s gates, and she and her betrothed were learning and finding ways to be pleasant with each other, so that only left her lady to actually ‘try’ and win the hearts of Lord Robb’s brothers Edrick and Edwyn. And although she and Lady Roslin loved children in general, they were very fickle in nature, more so for the twins who were only six years of age. When the two of them came across the twins’ chambers and found Lady Ashara regaling them with bedtime stories with tiredness written all over her beautiful face, Lady Roslin offered to do that task for her, especially now that she’s burdened with running a household and being a hostess for them, and soon the royal family. Lady Ashara was happy enough to relegate the task to them, admitting that they’re coming up short of servants to take care of Edrick and Edwyn especially as Old Nan took a fever and has been bed-ridden for weeks.

“Maester Luwin told me they have a copy here,” continued Lady Roslin. “Do you think they’re warming up to me now?”

“Ordering for you to get the book with these long flight of stairs… I don’t know,” shrugged Alayne with a smirk directed to her mistress.

Her lady feigned her outrage. “Implying that those kids could be that wicked! Tsk, tsk, Alayne Stone.”

Speaking of warming up, Alayne fought off a shudder when a burst of cold wind rose to the tower. The maid wondered about the said hot springs in the wolfswood. One of these days, she’ll visit them for herself and bask her skin and insides in warmth, might be she could ask for Lady Roslin to join her too.

 

#

 

 

The sharp fresh tang of pine needles filled Jon’s nostrils as he and Ser Jaime meander through the wolfswood. There was an earthly odor of wet ground and rotting leaves, the hints of animal musk and distant cooking fires by the foresters. Ghost has left the two of them farther behind that his albino direwolf blended with the snow-covered ground and snow-covered branches of oaks before them.

First the prince heard the faint sound of rushing waters from a nearby stream, then an urgent scream, decidedly of a woman, from far ahead. Jon and Ser Jaime shared a look for a beat and the two of them raced through the trees, right hands on the pummel of their swords ready to sheath them for what lay ahead. The quickest way across the stream was through, and it was running high and fast. Ser Jaime grumbled wading through the water, the deepest part of the crossing only reached to midthigh but the feat was made difficult due to his iron-clad legs. Jon grunted too, but when he heard a long rising wail followed by sharp growls from his generally silent Ghost and panicked shouts and terrified cries from men, the prince did all he could to cross the stream faster than a sling shot. He managed to maneuver himself towards the ford and broke into a sprint headed for where he thought the commotion would be. The prince’s heart was pounding from the sudden exertion and he tried to call for his wolf several times while he ran, hoping Ghost would answer back in any sound just so he would know where to go.

“Over here!” shouted Ser Jaime from Jon’s left side. And the prince doubled-back to follow his sworn shield.

The rows of ironwood eventually led to a clearing and they spotted a whimpering young woman hiding behind Ghost whose muzzle was spotted with fresh blood, surrounded by three people, two men and a woman, all wearing patched clothes and faded cloaks. The big man on the left was clutching his mangled right arm close to his chest and when all three of them saw Jon and Ser Jaime burst to the scene, they only looked more distress for a beat before scattering into different directions, like birds took to flight when interrupted during their feeding time.

The prince has just took a step made to pursue one of them when Ser Jaime held him back and ordered for him to stay with the girl instead. “I’ll handle this Jon. Look after the girl.”

Jon reluctantly gave his assent and whistled for Ghost to come to his side. His wolf opted to circle the young woman’s frame though and she let out a sigh of relief as she hugged Ghost closer to him, whispering _thank yous_ in reverence. The prince cleared his throat loudly and made sure that his riding boots crunched the earth, leaves, and grass he was trudging on, so as not to startle the girl of his presence. When he was near her side, he placed his right hand gently on her visibly shaking shoulder. “It’s okay. The worst has passed.”

Slowly, the young woman looked up to him and the prince was the one who was startled when he came face-to-face to someone with round and blue eyes so familiar to him that he felt suddenly choked, goosebumps covering his arms.

_Sans—_

“Thank you, ser,” the maid said as she started to compose herself, wiping tears away from her face and using her fingers to comb her short wavy hair still wet, a few tendrils sticking to her chin and neck (she was probably taking a bath in the stream when the three attacked her); the maid has _dark brown_ wavy tresses compared to the princess’ light auburn hair that it shouldn’t be a question to mistake her for Sansa. But didn’t she have the same eyes? Jon was reminded of the time he used to see Sansa’s eyes everywhere after that night that the King told him they’ve lost the princess and to accept that she’s dead and gone. He’d even imagined Sansa’s features morphing into every blue-eyed girl he met afterwards, so he chucked that reaction as the same one he’s having now. _She couldn’t be Sansa._

But was her cheekbones as high and sharp as the princess’? Does she have the same chin? Wasn’t the unfurling of her brows so achingly familiar? But Jon couldn’t be too sure—he was used to seeing Sansa in his mind’s eye and the truth of the matter was, he’d last seen her when she was still at her tender age of ten and three, going ten and four. She’d be ten and five now, a year and a half after the incident in the Red Keep and her and Ser Arthur’s supposed refuge to Evenfall. A lot could happen within that span of time that Jon wasn’t privy to; what he did know was this: it wasn’t only Sansa’s life that had changed after misfortunes and heartbreaks piled on her in the capital, and the point was it trickled slowly, sneaked at her like a thief hell-bent on snatching her happiness, while the prince’s was all at once, as if an explosion of wildfire— _bam!_ King Aerys was killed by his grandson Prince Aegon, and suddenly he’s the heir-apparent of the Seven Kingdoms, suddenly the princess disappeared without leaving a trace behind.

And try as Jon might, he couldn’t reconcile the memory of the princess with the maid before her. Besides, wouldn’t she have recognized him too?

“What’s your name?” he asked, and due to the turmoil in his head his voice came out rough.

The maid eyed him warily but answered his question nonetheless. “My name is Alayne Stone.”

Jon made to smother the next words he would say, but old habits die hard, and her looking up at him with those clear blue eyes made him hear Sansa’s voice chastising him to remember his courtesies. “Y—you’ve… a pretty name.”

The maid’s smile was a touch confused, looking at him as if there was a puzzle he had posed to her. He did sound rude earlier, but now he was paying her a compliment. Then she cocked her head to the side, the look gone, and now she was asking for his own name.

The prince panicked and in a stutter he’d said, “I’m... My name is... Jon. Jon St— Snow.”

“Jon Snow?” she echoed, making the prince inwardly flinch. It was a half-truth at least. Mother used to call him that back in Dragonstone; it was her pet name for him alongside ‘my little wolf’ and ‘my wolf prince’ until she deemed it time that he outgrew those childish pet names.

“Ser Snow… of the Riverlands?” the maid raised a brow to his attire, his person was clad in an old dented armor that used to be Ser Brynden’s, grey mail and boiled leather breastplate with silver lining and a silver trout. “Are you here for the tourney?”

“I—yes, though I guess I’m a bit early for it.” Jon’s tongue was getting heavier as time passed, and the funny thing was, he didn’t know why he’s lying to the girl before her.

“You’re a knight in service of what House, again?” asked Alayne, dusting off her dress and her backside and frowning at the dirt that clung to her skirts from her time kneeling on the earth. Her tone was light, too light that Jon realized with a start that she’s testing him.

Did Alayne Stone mention from what place she came from? Stone was the name of bastard children from the Vale of Arryn and it was fairly common knowledge and the prince didn’t detect any Northern accent from her; in fact, she has a riverlander tilt the same as Ser Byrnden’s, didn’t she? It was curious, but it’s not as if baseborn were expected to be confined to where they were born. _Well, shit_.

The maid stared openly at him, waiting for his reply, betraying nothing of her intent to gauge whether he’s truly a knight from the riverlands.

“I’m more of a hedge knight, really.” And the prince shrugged.

This, Alayne took with a visible flinch. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know. I meant no offense with my inquiries! It makes no matter, my brother was a hedge knight until he became a sellsword.”

The maid was looking now at Jon, blue eyes bright with tears as she wrung her hands in unease. _This conversation just took a turn for the worse_ , he thought feeling the need to rub the back of his head.

“No offense made… uhm, my lady,” the prince said hastily and added the latter sentence at the skeptical pull of her lips: “Really. I imagine every single person here wants to know who represents who, and who works for who, because of the tourney.”

Alayne eventually let her doubt go as she agreed with him. “It’s all the North ever talks about now.”

“Do you mind me asking what you’re doing here alone? And why those people tried to harm you?”

The maid shook her head. “I’m planning to invite my mistress to go for a dip at the hot springs. So before I exactly do just that, I wanted to test the springs first.” She then blushed at this. “I’m relatively new in the North in general and I got lost trying to find the well of hot springs here in the wolfswood. The stream looked inviting though, so I decided to take a bath here since I’m all alone anyway. I think those three that attacked me only wanted to steal my clothes.”

_Steal her clothes? But she’s wearing—oh._ And from how her eyes widened at that proclamation—while still talking that the unruly trio may have targeted her fat purse that didn’t contain any baubles of value, mind—did she come to the same realization as Jon’s: Alayne Stone was only wearing a thin gown that could only be her underclothes, admittedly translucent from being soaked in water, and sunlit. Now all the prince could see was her pale skin and his cheeks warmed straightaway.

Jon didn’t notice because he was busy staring at her face, and she was fairly preoccupied because of the danger to her life before, but now that they’re both hyper aware of the maid’s state of underdress, the two of them blanched and promptly turned away from each other. The prince heard a moan escaped Alayne’s lips and a stifled expletive, and then the rustling of clothes.

After, in a small voice, she’d said. “You can turn now.”

The prince did as he was bid and saw the maid with her cloak on, gathering the piles of wet and dry clothes and carry sacks near the roots of a sentinel. “Well now, I’ll leave you here so you yourself can enjoy a warm bath.”

When Jon opened his mouth to ask how she knew, the maid looked pointedly at his own carry sack strapped to his back, because yes, he and Ser Jaime planned to wash themselves from the grime of travelling for a week and a half from Castle Black to Winterfell in the hot springs, and change into an outfit befitting a prince and his white cloak, that Ser Jaime had repeatedly reminded him they do on the road before they reached the said castle.

“I think I should escort you back—”

Alayne swiftly declined his offer, saying, “I can’t impose that much, ser. Besides, I think your companion needs help in catching the bandits?” Her head inclined to the direction where Ser Jaime disappeared to.

“Do you know your way back, at least?”

The maid nodded at the prince and smiled graciously that dimples impressed on her chin and it stunned Jon of how lovely she looked. “Thank you again, ser. I hope this isn’t the last we see of each other. And you too, my knight in… furry armor,” the last sentence she’d said to his pet Ghost with a fond smile before looking up at him again.

The prince felt like he was caught staring so again he stumbled over his words, “I do as well—hope to see you… Ghost! Ghost and I hope to see you again.”

The maid laughed gently, waved them goodbye and walked towards the clearing of the forest. Jon was perplexed, but suppress it he did when he felt a pang of disappointment as he watched her go. He was only slightly relieved when he heard Ser Jaime shout “Your Grace!” as Alayne Stone was already out of earshot by then.

 

***

 

The Hunter’s Gate was a gate located close to the kennels and the kitchens of Winterfell. It opened directly onto open fields and the wolfswood, so people could come and go without having to cross through the winter town. Wanting for his arrival to be discreet, wanting to avoid hundreds of men already camped in the village and the roundabout way to even go there in the first place, Jon and Ser Jaime opted to choose Hunter’s Gate to enter the ancestral castle of House Stark. Vayon Poole and Jory Cassel, the head steward and captain of household guard respectively, were the only ones who met them at the gates. As was expected as they’ve arrived in the dead of night when the castle was already sleeping. They’ve been sidetracked catching the three rogues that attacked Alayne Stone but they did manage to catch them in the end, hiding in one crofter’s dwelling in the wolfswood, later learning that the three have been terrorizing the crofter and his family for a week now.

“These guys delayed us,” Ser Jaime said by way of explanation. “Scared a maid in the wolfswood, and been pilfering one family’s stocks and holding the young sons as hostages.”

Jory Cassel was eyeing the rogues now, hands and feet bounded and forming a chain, with evident disgust. “Thank you for sorting this one out, sers. I’ll set guards to patrol the wolfswood too.”

“Your Grace,” Vayon Poole piped up next, “Let’s leave these three to Jory and I’ll escort you to your rooms. I imagine Lord Robb’s been pacing outside your chambers, wondering where you are now.”

“Very well,” Jon replied. “Ghost, to me.” He’d said after, calling for his wolf, as it seemed that the beast wanted to issue a final warning when he bared his sharp teeth for the three brigands, and snapping at each of them until they trembled in fear once more.

 

#

 

 

Alayne and Lady Roslin were busy knitting in her mistress’ solar when Olyvar burst into the room without so much as a knock, his brown eyes bulging from excitement of wanting to share something and almost tripping from the carved wooden toys scattered on the rushes. He knew that they’ve kept to leaving the door unbarred as the twins Edrick and Edwyn now liked to come to Lady Roslin’s chambers on their own, having finally gained their favor after a week of sucking up to their wants and needs. Now, they’ve always asked for her and her lady’s company that sometimes her lady’s solar became more a nursery than a young bride’s room, so said Lord Robb one day that he stayed in to play with his younger brothers here.

“The Crown Prince’s here!” Olyvar blurted, pulling his sister’s hands into his to lift her up from her chair. “He arrived late last night, and we’ve received him in the Great Hall. We didn’t see him earlier because he broke his fast in his own chambers.”

“Just the Crown Prince?” Lady Roslin asked, his brother’s delight infecting her as she was smiling now; and it proved a great deal of distraction to Alayne as well, as she couldn’t concentrate to close the loop of her running stitches anymore. It would her first time to see a royal born, in the flesh.

The maid pressed her lips to contain her enthusiasm, but she did carelessly toss her embroidery to the side table as she stood up too.

“Yes,” answered Olyvar. “Apparently he’s been in the North for a moon now. He just got back from Castle Black to visit the Night’s Watch.”

“What are you doing here then Olyvar? Shouldn’t you want to be introduced to the Crown Prince?” Alayne inquired, for they all knew of Olyvar’s dreams of squiring for the prince and become a Kingsguard knight.

Lady Roslin’s brother rolled his eyes to her. “Of course, I’m just here to get you both so you could see the prince as well. We’ll be leaving for hunting this afternoon.” Then to his sister he said, “You should see your betrothed off.”

This time, it was Lady Roslin who rolled her eyes and jested, “I’m beginning to get sick of all this coming and going…”

But Olyvar couldn’t be deterred. He grabbed each shoulder of Alayne and Lady Roslin and pushed them outside the solar. “Come now! You both are looking all pale, hiding in this room! Go have a bit of sunshine in the yard. You can cheer on Edrick and Edwyn, I hear they wanted to show the prince about their archery skills.”

That got Lady Roslin’s brows to shoot up, and Alayne felt her own heart pound in thrill now. That should be fun to watch, as the twins were unruly when it came to their bows and arrows.

 

***

 

Snow swirled outside the keep, and there was all noise and chaos in the yard before them; it took a while before Alayne could distinguish the laughter in the air from the men in the yard, alongside heated shouts from two little boys. Olyvar, Lady Roslin, and the maid walked towards where Lady Ashara was: leaning on the granite wall that stretched to the broken tower. Over 140 years ago a lightning strike set it afire and the top third collapsed inward, but no one bothered to rebuild it, and the tower now provided ample shade from the sun when one wanted to loiter in the yard.

From that point, they could now clearly see Edrick and Edwyn standing on opposite ends, with a round target for each of them at a distance, and yet, judging from the arrows sticking on the ground, it looked like the contest was about who could let an arrow fly and loose it the farthest and not about hitting the right mark. The maid could feel a bubble of mirth rising from her own throat at the spectacle.

“Tell it to him Jon,” whined Edrick, his little chubby cheeks all red. “Tell Edwyn I won this round fair and square!”

_Jon?_ Come to think of it, one of her rescuers, Ser Jon Snow, share the same first name with their Crown Prince.

“What? Clearly I won!” Edwyn dropped his bow and balled his little fists, there was heat in his violet eyes and his brows were contorted so deeply. He looked like he’s about to strike his brother for all to see. “My arrow reached past Father’s while yours just landed where your previous arrow was.”

The prince picked up Edwyn, and Alayne thought his dark curls were the same as Ser Snow’s. She craned her neck to get a better look but Edwyn’s body was blocking her view of his face.

“Jon! Jon! Tell it isn’t true,” begged Edrick, his grey eyes now close to tears. Alayne’s heart tugged at that.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Lady Roslin voiced her own concern to the twins’ lady mother.

Lady Ashara just shook her head and smiled. “The prince knows how to handle those two. Better than my Robb.”

At the mention of his name, the young lord appeared at their side, looking chagrined. But his smiling blue eyes told another tale. “Now, Mother. It isn’t nice to speak ill of someone.” When he looked down his betrothed, he said, “I see you’ve wandered outside your hole, my lady. And without a cloak in this falling snow?”

Lord Robb was ready to drape his own cloak to his intended when her mistress answered, “We were rushing to see the prince—” goading and joining in on the fun of mocking him at Lady Ashara’s amusement.

“It’s all about the prince today,” and the young lord pouted.

Olyvar at her left side cracked up instantly and leaned to Alayne for support. The maid couldn’t hide the upturn of the corners of her mouth now.

“But I see he isn’t all that much,” and Lady Roslin threw a smirk to her betrothed.

“A wise observation,” Lord Robb replied, grinning widely and now continued to drape her lady’s small frame in his all too heavy furs. Her mistress smiled daintily, evidently satisfied, and looked back to the yard again.

She and Olyvar were plainly chuckling now; sometimes, the couple’s banter were all too flirtatious for Alayne’s own hearing that she’d rather be anywhere else in the North than be their chaperone, but other times, it was just right. The maid also looked back to the spectacle before them and found that the twins were laughing now. Edrick no longer looked like he was about to cry, and Edwyn no longer looked like he was about to throw the biggest of fits. In that span of time they were busy watching Lord Robb and Lady Roslin bicker, the prince has managed to calm both twins. Edrick and Edwyn were laughing riotously as the Crown Prince chased them around the courtyard, promising them a good deal of tickles if he ever catch them. And when he paused to catch his breath and looked up in the direction where their group was, Alayne froze.

_Ser Jon Snow—?_ He has the same grey eyes, the same long face, the same straight nose, the same ample lips, and the same curly black hair. Then his whole face tensed as he saw her, clearly recognizing her to be the maid he’d helped that day in the wolfswood. _Ser Jon is the Crown Prince Jon Stark…?_

How humiliating! He hid his true identity from her! For what purpose? Was it because baseborn didn’t deserve to receive the same courtesy as those royal born? Did he think she’d flung herself to him if she knew he’s the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, because of her bastard blood? Did he think it funny for how easily she believed his lie?

Alayne felt her eyes sting, her cheeks heat and her chest throb. Well, her bastard blood’s boiling right now and her lady was right, _the prince isn’t all that much._

 

#

 

 

_Time present (Extended Play 2 – Rewinded)_

 

 

Lady Lyanna Stark looked at the asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal before her, the seat of power of the Seven Kingdoms: the Iron Throne. She has only seen the throne a handful of times, as the previous king didn’t want her to be anywhere near it, or him. _It still looks uncomfortable, even up close._

Ser Jaime had told her that by the end the Mad King had become so fearful that he would allow no blade in his presence, save for the swords his new Kingsguard wore. His beard was matted and unwashed, his hair a silver-gold tangle that reached his waist, his fingernails cracked yellow claws nine inches long. The knight described how the blades of the Iron Throne tormented him, how his arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. And now, her son, her firstborn, would one day sit on it. She imagined his Stark face crumpling in uneasiness seated on it, its power crushing and suffocating her beautiful boy. Never mind that the courtiers gossiped that she hoped and dreamed and planned for all these to happen so she could put her boy on that blasted seat. Never mind that after the siege in the Red Keep, the Queen Elia and the Queen Mother Rhaella decided to retreat to Dorne to get away from its horrors, the courtiers would spin their own tales to that too. Never mind that she ached still for losing Arthur and the Princess Sansa in a meaningless power grab, that she couldn’t even properly mourn them.

The lady heaved a sigh, and felt someone walked to her side.

“Will you miss it?” That was Jon Connington’s voice, referring to her impending travel to the North to celebrate her son’s nameday and last harvest of the season.

She turned her head to look at the lord’s lined and leathery face. The lord only gestured to the throne before them.

“I don’t think so,” Lyanna answered. “But in a twisted way, I may… that seat and the ruler who once sat on it did manage to imprison me in Dragonstone for such a long time.”

“Admittedly, it has imprisoned a lot of kings and royal born before you. Physically and metaphorically, I’d say.”

The lady opted to study his companion’s face now, she’d had enough looking at the throne for this day. Jon Connington has crow’s feet at the corners of his pale blue eyes. His hair has turned grey, though his beard was still mostly red, with ash showing here and there. “I don’t want the same to happen to my husband, and to my son in the future.”

“They have a special kind of strength… it didn’t come from within them, but from those they loved.”

“I know that,” she blurted, a touch sore. “Which is why I don’t support the Small Council arranging a marriage for the prince. My boy only wanted to marry for love, and I’m not about to deny him that. Hypocritical of me to do that besides.”

Lord Connington leveled her with a hard stare from the corner of his blue eyes. “Didn’t part of you regret that choice you made?”

Lady Lyanna didn’t flinch. “Part of me did. Gods, there are times the whole of me did. But I wanted my son to have at least a choice to make, even if he’d come to regret it, because I know he’d be comforted in the thought that it was his own-doing that led him to it.”

“That’s quite fatalistic,” this time the Lord of Griffin’s Roost fully turned to look at her.

Lyanna shrugged. “A House Stark family trait, you can be sure. The snow, the cold and the threat of winter can do that to you.”

“I fear I haven’t met many Starks or Northern people to just blatantly agree.”

That pulled a small smile on the lady’s face up until the plump and bald Lord Varys entered the throne room and had called for her urgently to come with him.

“Something came up Lady Stark. You have to see him immediately—”

_Him_ , the spymaster said. And not the ‘King’ and that could only mean… but no, _not yet_. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope, not until she saw his body. Tears formed on the lady’s eyes as she followed Lord Varys to the chambers of Grand Maester Pycelle. Lord Connington accompanied her as well as Ser Oswell Whent.

Inside, they were greeted by howling cries of a man with silver hair on the maester’s cot.

“Gods!” breathed Lord Connington, “Seven hells,” cursed Ser Oswell, and Lyanna rushed towards the bed and sobbed hard. _Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!_ She tried to grip both his hands, but with a startling horror, she realized that the half of his left arm has been cut off.

“What happened? How did you find him?!” she asked Lord Varys, her voice sounding hysterical to her own ears.

“My little birds saw him passed out in the godswood. He’s feverish then.”

“From my examination, he’s passed out for two days. He’s severely parched too. I’ve already given him the first aid. He didn’t have any mortal wounds far as I can see.” Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat before continuing, “His cut off arm has healed a long time, my lady. I don’t know yet why he’s thrashing this way.”

“I thought you should be the first to know, my lady,” added Lord Varys.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Secrets were Lord Varys’ trade, and his skill at acquiring them has earned him a reputation for being seemingly omniscient. And they still have enemies left in this snake-pit called the Red Keep.

“Lya?” it was Arthur’s voice, hoarse, but ringing out that he’s _alive_. “Lya, is that you?”

“Yes, I’m here Arthur. I’m here,” and she cradled her lover’s head to her bosom, wiped the beaded sweat on his face, and tried to smooth away the agony he’s feeling. His violet eyes found it hard to focus on her face though.

“Lya, listen—the princess—taken—” and then Arthur shuddered horribly and panted like he’s having trouble breathing, “Viserys. Viserys—” the knight let out a primal scream and passed out again.

She looked at the old maester, at Lord Varys, at Lord Connington and Ser Oswell, and found that all their eyes were reflecting same question she has, _what does this all mean?_

 

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ripped from Phaedrus’ words “Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.” 
> 
> 1\. My last sem has ended and I was able to finally finish this chapter after writing on and off for it during the course of the semester. And so it turned out really long! I think I may have rambled on and made most parts as character-studies, but I hope you guys enjoy the update :)  
> 2\. I thank you all for still supporting this fic ❤❤❤ We're nearing the end *tears up* (I'm on a break now so I really hope I could churn out faster updates before my comprehensive exams and thesis writing *shudders at the amount of work*)  
> 3\. Also... what do you guys think of the twist at the end?????!!!! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Did I got you guys good??? Sound off in the comments, please and thank you, hehe~

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I've been dying to post this just to hear everyone's thoughts on my AU (so if you do have comments or violent reactions please feel free to write them below)  
> 2\. It's been a while since I last read the books, as well as practice writing these ASOIAF characters so forgive me for any OOC-ness (I have lots of unfinished Jon/Sansa before! but my computer crashed and they weren't recovered so it took a loooooong while to start writing again -seriously, that awfully breaks a girl/every writer's heart-). I tried my best and will continue to do so, promise!  
> 3\. It was fun writing Jon/Sansa as children completely with different backgrounds from the books but still set in the book!verse... but after Chapter 1, there will be a time skip so look out for that (and of course I'll have to finish and post Chapter 1.2 so yeah /working on it!)  
> 4\. Song lyrics at the start of the chapter is from Riptide by Vance Joy (which will be used for the rest of the chapters)  
> 5\. Fic title came from Ellie Goulding's song Love Me Like You Do while Series' title came from Robert Frost's poem The Star-Splitter


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